


Little Bird

by wickersnap



Series: dbh rarepairs week [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Androids (Detroit: Become Human), Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Androids Are Human, Bad Flirting, Canon Divergence — Gavin is Nicer Now, Connor & Nines are twins, First Kiss, Gay Disaster Gavin Reed, Get Together, Ghosts, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Prompt Fic, Rated for language and sexual references, angst is feather light because I like happy things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-12 20:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20570708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickersnap/pseuds/wickersnap
Summary: October 2017: I think I can see ghosts.October 2030: Investigated a crash outside Miller and Conrad's...October 2038: Fuck, I think I've picked up a strayGavin had hated being able to see them since he was fifteen. No one else could, so was he just going mad? They certainly seemed to think so, if he ever mentioned it... So how in the flying fuck is he going to explain this to Hank?"Oh hey, Hank, I know you don't like me, but I accidentally found the ghost of your adopted son while driving home. Just thought you should know."Jesus, who said you couldn't fall in love in a week? No one, that's who.





	1. October First

**Author's Note:**

> Originally started for day 1 (supernatural/laughter) of dbh rarepairs week, the idea reaaaally ran away without me and I only managed about 17/8k before the actual day it was due ':) rip me  
Enjoy a chaptered fic instead! I'm so sorry!!  
I think that due to his circumstances, Gavin would be a more empathetic person after all this, which is why he isn't an actual asshole. Ugh, I so wanted them to be cute from the beginning.  
I hope you enjoy!  
[tumblr](https://silverxsakura.tumblr.com/)

“Hey, Gavin.”

He had been cursing at ghosts for years.

He had been cursing them for years, but all it took was that one greeting.

If you looked back through Gavin’s high school diary (ew) you might see the first recorded ghost instance is on the day of his fifteenth birthday.  _ October 7th, 2017: I think I can see ghosts. _ They look just like any other person, except slightly translucent, and nobody pays them any mind. Sometimes, they can even be solid, and interact with things. By the end of the month, Gavin had written  _ ‘I think I’ve just finally fucking lost it,’ _ and stopped trying to understand. Seeing ghosts was cool, right? Who cares why he can do it.

Yeah, no. Ghosts were fucking annoying.

His skills had accelerating his promotion to Detective, with the number of cases a random ghost or the victims themselves could recount, and as Detective Gavin Reed he had one of the highest success rates of any member of the DPD. But the ghosts themselves… Dear  _ god  _ was it a pain in the ass to have to deal with them.

And all it took was driving past the site of the crash—once, at that.

“Fuck!” Gavin yelps, nearly jerking the steering wheel as he jumps. He’s never had one appear in his car before.

He ignores him steadfastly until he can pull over into an empty car park, heart going a million miles an hour and simultaneously constricting painfully as he tries not to think about the owner of that voice. It’s almost three in the morning, he’s exhausted, and he really wants to go the fuck home.

Instead, he turns to the ghost in his passenger seat.

Hilariously, he looks about as shocked as Gavin himself. Curly umber hair, pale skin, puppy dog penny-brown eyes, freckles… Holy  _ shit _ .

Gavin swallows and reaches out towards him, hesitant. “Connor?” He asks hoarsely.

“Gavin?” The ghost gasps, eyes still wide. “Gavin?! You can see me?!” He reaches his hand out also, but it phases through Gavin’s wrist.

Gavin takes his hand back and inhales deeply. “Fuckin’ hell, Connor. It’s been… It’s been almost ten years.” 

Connor’s eyebrows jump into his hairline. “What? Ten years?!” He chews his bottom lip and looks around. “I—I really am dead, aren’t I?”

Gavin can feel his throat begin to close around the words. “Yeah, bud. I’m sorry… It’s just turned October, 2038.” 

Connor takes a few moments to think about that, before tentatively asking, “How’s Dad?”

Gavin swallows. “He’s… He’s functioning,” he says. God, he really does not know how to deal with this kid right now. “He went downhill after you… After he lost the both of you. I’m… We couldn’t really stop it, but he still comes to work, does his job. He’s jus’ a functioning alcoholic with… He don’t seem to care whether he lives or dies.

“I know I—I didn’t know any of you much before. I was barely on the force, but… I respected Hank. He was good at his job. Still is, just… Doesn’t give a damn about livin’ no more. I’m sorry, man, but I know he’s devastated over you.”

He looks over at Connor. Transparent, glistening tear tracks run down his face, and he’s blinking at Gavin as if trying to hold back more. Gavin had known that ghosts could cry, just… Not like this.

“Thank you,” Connor whispers, and wipes his face. “Thank you, Gavin. I’m sorry we didn’t get to know you before we died.”

Gavin clears his throat uncomfortably. He hates having to do this. 

“How are Mum and Cole?”

Gavin blows out a breath. “Fuck, Connor, I’m not sure. I mean, they sound okay—your dad goes to pick him up every other weekend—but I think they’re the only people keeping him alive.”

Connor nods, again wiping his eyes. After a moment, Gavin frowns. 

“Speakin’ of, where’s Richard?”

Connor looks up at him again. “Oh…” He says. “I don’t—I don’t know. He, I think he gave up. One day he was there, and the next he’d gone.” He sniffs. “He probably got fed up of my company.”

“Shouldn’t that be your line? You’re older than him,” Gavin tries.

Connor chuckles weakly. “We all deal with things in our own ways.”

“I guess so,” Gavin agrees. “So, you gonna stick with me, I suppose?”

“If that’s okay, Detective.” Connor licks his lips. 

“It’s hard to explain. I remember how to get home, and to the station, and—anywhere, but I… It’s like I have no permanent memory of where I am. I know we’re in a car park now, but I’d probably find myself in Seattle before I made it back home.”

“It’s okay,” Gavin clears his throat again. “You can follow me. I’ll probably see Hank later.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

“’S all right. And you can drop that. Just call me Gavin.”

Connor smiles. “Thank you, Gavin.”

The drive home is silent, after that.

The key clicks in the lock, and Gavin pushes open the door. Connor is still hovering at his shoulder, shifting from foot to foot. Despite being unable to feel it, Gavin somehow knows that he’s trying to touch his shoulder again.

“Sorry about the mess,” he says, gesturing for Connor to follow. “It’s not much. Make yourself at home though, I guess.” On the left is the door to his bedroom, and he can hear his bed calling him from here. Instead, he walks his guest to the living room and veers into the kitchen for a glass of water.

“Thank you, Gavin. I hope I’m not too much of a bother.”

“Too late,” Gavin breathes, meanly, into his drink. Louder, he says, “It’s not a problem, kid.” 

He drops the empty glass on the side and goes to lean on the back of the sofa. Connor is standing at the balcony door, gazing out over the small portion he can see of the city.

“Do you guys, uh, sleep?” He asks.

Connor chuckles. “No, not so as you’d notice. I suppose if I don’t pay attention, though, time will just slip by me.”

Gavin nods. “Well, I’ll be in the bedroom if you need anything.”

“What could a ghost need?” Connor turns to smile at him. Gavin wonders whether he’d noticed how disarmingly pretty the kid was, before. He shakes his head and retreats to bed, barely managing to undress before he hits the covers.

His alarm shrills. Seven-thirty, on the dot.  _ Fuck.  _

Gavin switches it off, but doesn’t move. As soon as the idea of getting up enters his head, his entire body sinks into the mattress, unbearably heavy.

“Gavin,” says a soft voice. “Gavin.” He opens his eyes. He realises with a start that he’d dozed off again, and scrabbles to check the time on his phone. 7:36. He looks up at Connor, sitting on the side of his bed, and jumps.

“Jesus,” he mutters, rubbing his eyes. “Morning to you too, Connor.”

Connor smiles. “Good morning, Gavin. You need to get up for work.”

When Gavin sits up and makes to actually leave his bed, this time, Connor withdraws from the room. He doesn’t pass through the walls unnervingly, like most other ghosts Gavin’s dealt with, but uses the door instead. Gavin groans, and goes to shower.  _ It wasn’t all just a hallucination _ , he decides with much reluctance, and not for the first time.

He enters the main room only to realise that gone are abandoned crisp packets and drinks cans, his scattered magazines and papers have stacked themselves neatly on a shelf, and there’s a fresh plate of toast and a mug of hot coffee waiting for him on the kitchen counter. He frowns, and looks over at Connor, standing again at the balcony door.

“Did you do this?” He asks. 

“It turns out that I  _ can  _ consciously interact with physical things,” Connor tells him, sounding fulfilled. “I just had to try a couple of times.”

Gavin clears his throat, traipsing into the kitchen and reaching for the toast. “You know you don’t… You don’t have to clean up for me.” 

Connor laughs, lightly, turning to face him. Gavin can see now, in the daylight, that he’s been crying again. “I know, Gavin. I had nothing to do, and I thought I’d say thanks.”

“It’s not a problem,” Gavin repeats, automatically, from last night. He looks at the guy, all soft edges and barely-there. He’s going to have to figure out a way to tell Hank, isn’t he. 

_ Fuck  _ his life.

Gavin finishes his toast and his coffee and is out the door by quarter-past eight. Connor trails after him and sits in the passenger side. He pokes at the radio while Gavin drives, flicking through the eclectic array of music on the memory card.

“Pick somethin’ to play,” Gavin tells him. Connor hums. After a few moments of soft beeping from the dashboard, he chooses a track and hits play. 

Gavin frowns, feeling like he’s suddenly been slapped in the face by his nostalgia. “Isn’t this from, like, 2016 or somethin’?” 

“I think it was 2015,” Connor replies. “I would have only just been going through my emo phase, remember?”

“At… Eleven? Christ.”

“Okay,” Connor admits, “maybe not  _ quite  _ then. But it was still popular.”

“What, Fall Out Boy?”

“I remember everyone being very excited for this album, online.”

Gavin sighs. “I don’t remember. Fuck, I feel old.”

Connor laughs. “I like the songs in the second half, they feel kinder.” 

“Is that why you put it on from there?”

“I saw it and thought, why the hell not?”

Gavin quirks a tiny smile. It’s been so long since he’s had a half-decent conversation. By the time they arrive at the station, he’s caught himself mumbling along to the words several times already. He cuts the engine when the current song ends and leans back in his seat with a sigh. He just—needs a minute. 

“Today might be a bit much, I’m gonna warn you.” He looks at Connor, who is gazing back at him, rapt. “I won’t be able to talk to you when there are people around, ’cause they can’t see you an’ all. If you… If it’s too much, just say somethin’ an’ I’ll step outside so you can follow.” 

Connor nods, smiling gently.

“Unless, unless of course, you want to stick with Hank,” Gavin waffles. “Your dad, I mean. Which I fully understand…” He runs a hand down his face and groans quietly. “I’m sorry, kid, I’m not very good at people stuff. Just, jus’ know I’ll try my best to help if you need it. I’ll find a way to talk to your dad about this soon, I promise.”

A warm pressure falls on his bicep. “Thank you, Gavin, really. I’ll be fine.” Gavin nods and swallows. He takes his keys and gets out of the car, making his way into the station. 

Connor follows him. He says hello to the guards Gavin nods to, even though they can’t hear him.

“Hey Gavin,” Tina calls as she passes. “Congrats on catching that guy last night.”

“Thanks,” he replies. “Had me up until four, though. I’m shit tired.” 

She laughs, holding out a yellow plate with a small cupcake. “Good thing I saved this for you, then. See ya later.”

“See ya, Tina.” He takes the plate and sits it next to his files at his desk. They’re ten minutes early, but punctuality is (surprisingly) one of Gavin’s strong points. Connor sits on the edge of Gavin’s desk, swinging his legs.

“I’ve never been inside the station before,” he muses. “It looks very high-tech. I wonder what’s changed since I’ve been gone…” 

“Gavin, Fowler wants to see you after you close yesterday’s case,” Chris tells him, rolling over on his chair.

“Morning, Chris, you look dead.” Gavin says with a falsely pleasant smile. “How’s the kid?” 

Chris slumps and shakes his head. “Up all night crying. It’s horrible to have to go through, truly.”

“I wouldn’t know,” smirks Gavin.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, asshole.” Chris punches him in the arm. “You haven’t even had a boyfriend for like, five years, we’re not expecting anything soon.”

“What can I say? I’m married to my job.”

“Married my ass—you just like being able to flash that badge around.” 

Gavin snorts. “Whatever, man. Guess I gotta do that report before Fowler has my ass, though.”

“Good luck,” Chris says, rolling back to his desk.

Gavin logs into his terminal and pulls up his files.

Throughout the morning, Connor makes various vague comments that, thankfully, don’t need answering. Some of them are about the haphazardness of the office, some are observations about Gavin’s coworkers, and some observations about Gavin himself. These include, but aren’t limited to, his propensity for bouncing his leg, the numerous scars down his arms, the likelihood that he’d need glasses judging by his squinting at the monitor, and his frequent trips to the coffee machine. Once or twice, Gavin pulls himself away from his work just to glare at his ghostly friend, but Connor only ever grins back at him, dazzlingly so. He doesn’t, however, move from Gavin’s side. He doesn’t explore the office, and he doesn’t follow any of the others.

Gavin finishes another paragraph and notices that he hasn’t heard any of Connor’s running commentary for a while, now. He looks up at the small congregation around Brown’s desk in front of him. Beside them Connor half-lies across the bend of the desk to watch what they’re doing on the monitor. Though unwilling to admit it, Gavin, distracted by his prone position, has no idea what’s going on when Connor suddenly says, “Have none of you thought to try a Caesar cipher yourselves?”

Gavin starts, snapping his gaze back up to Connor’s face. He looks troubled, or maybe irritated. Obviously, he isn’t going to get a response from any of those guys, so Gavin clears his throat to get his attention. Connor looks over at him, eyebrows raised. Gavin frowns at him and makes a pointed glance at Brown and Person, hoping to get the message across.

Connor lights up. “They’ve found this code, but they don’t know if it’s time sensitive,” he explains with gestures. It shouldn’t be endearing. “They’re worrying about the amount of time-wasting that sending it off for analysis will do, but none of them have tried a Caesar cipher decrypter, yet. The whole thing is just a four-place right shift, it’s hardly secure—even I’ve deciphered it by now.”

Gavin nods, clears his throat again, and leans across his desk to get the group’s attention. He doesn’t think about how it puts him right up in Connor’s space, nuh uh.

“You guys have a coded note, you said?” He asks.

Person glances at him. “Yeah. You got anything to help or are you just gonna be a nuisance?” She asks. Ouch, okay. 

“Fuck if I know anything about code-breaking,” he says, just because he can. “Haven’t you checked to see if it’s that Caesar thing? Caesar cyber or whatever. I thought you could get those decryptor site things on Google.” 

“Caesar cipher,” she corrects. “No one uses that anymore, it’s way too simple to crack.”

“Yeah, but I’m asking if you’ve  _ tried _ it.”

Ben pats her on the shoulder before she can argue more with him. “There’s no harm in trying,” he placates. 

Beside them, Connor positively beams. 

Gavin pulls up the notepad on his personal phone and types out ‘how the heck do u know this’ before setting it pointedly but nonchalantly face-up on his desk. Connor peers over to read it and giggles.

“This is  _ basic  _ computer science, Gavin. The most basic of basic. The Romans used it, even. We learnt this in, like, sixth grade.”

Gavin rolls his eyes discreetly, pulling his phone back to type underneath, ‘shut up I’m pretty sure sixth graders can’t do them in their heads’.

“Oh my God,” Brown mutters. “He was right.”

Connor looks at the screen and grins. “Of course I was,” he tells nobody.

The three of them immediately hasten from their seats, looking alarmed by whatever they’ve just found out.

“Thanks, Gavin,” Brown says, before dragging an exhausted Chris from his desk to accompany them and pelting out of the front door.

Gavin snorts at their departure and places his phone back on the table. Connor seems to let his lower half phase through the desk so he’s left leaning on the surface standing in the middle of it. He stretches over to see Gavin’s message.

“Maybe not, but I went to MIT for software, robotics and AI,” he says. “It’s the sort of thing you learn to do.” 

In a flash, the lazy, carefree attitude is gone. Connor pushes himself up on both palms and steps quickly around to the outside edge of Gavin’s desk.

Gavin checks the time on his terminal. 13:21. Ah. About time.

“Is that…” Connor’s voice trembles. Gavin tries his absolute hardest to ignore him. He’s beginning to think that this was a very, very bad idea.

“Dad…” 

Gavin feels the air move behind him as Hank passes. He looks up under the guise of watching him shuffle over to his desk, and sees Connor reaching out to him, much like he did last night, shaking. Gavin doesn’t want to intrude on Connor’s privacy, but nor can he focus on doing any work. He gently slides his phone back and fiddles around with reorganising his home screen for a while, just in case he needs a quick exit, and so he can keep an eye on the kid.

Maybe five minutes later, Connor sits back up on Gavin’s desk. He’s still watching his father across the room. 

He’s going to have to do it. He’s just going to have to get it done, rip off the plaster quickly, and see if he can convince him.

Gavin sighs, heavily. He slips his phone into his pocket and stands, making sure to crack all of the joints that have stiffened unreasonably in protestation to Gavin actually being alive.

“You don’t have to come,” he mutters as quietly as he can under his breath. It’s a good thing that there’s no one working at any of the nearby desks. Connor nods, distractedly. Taking that as his cue to act, Gavin strides around the filing cabinets in the middle of the bullpen and over to Hank’s desk. He stubbornly does not check for his ghostly companion.

“Hey, Hank,” he calls. The desk opposite Hank’s is still empty. He wonders, somewhere in the back of his mind, if he’ll have to deal with a new coworker.

“What is it, Reed?” Hank all but growls. Yikes, this might be even harder than anticipated.

Gavin comes to stand at the outside corner of the work space, leaving a lot of room between them to forestall the eventuality of Hank deciding to take a swipe at him.

“Hey, I uh, I gotta discuss something kinda important with you.”

Hank glares over his terminal. “And?”

“Just, like,” he folds his arms subconsciously as he talks. “Not here.”

“And where else should  _ ‘not here’ _ be?”

Gavin scuffs the toe of his boot along the vinyl. “Look, are you doing anything on Friday? I can just knock on your door, and we can talk in like, your front yard or somethin’—I don’t care, as long as there’s no one else around, but this is  _ real fuckin’ important _ and you’re gonna wanna hear it.”

The glare creases into a suspicious frown. “And you can’t jus’ tell me here?”

“No!” Gavin insists. “No, I can’t, and I need time to figure this whole damn thing out before I fuck it all up and say something I’ll regret.”

By the end of his outburst, Gavin’s managed to screw his eyes quite tightly closed and is rubbing a hand back and forth over his forehead. When he calms his nerves enough to look at Hank again, he still seems sceptical. But, and this is a large improvement on the usual, his expression has softened.

“Friday, d’you say?

Gavin lets his shoulders sag a little. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks. I’ll uh, I’ll bring somethin’ with me.” 

Hank nods. “I’ll see you then,” he agrees, and goes back to ignoring the existence of the rest of the station.

It’s a near thing, but Gavin manages  _ not  _ to run away when he makes his retreat.

Connor is still perched on the desk. He watches Gavin return and smiles weakly, leaning into his presence when he sits back down. Gavin hates that he can tell so easily that when the kid’s been crying.

End of shift rolls around eventually, and Gavin clocks off with an ardour he hasn’t felt for his off-duty time in a long time. He’s unsure whether or not to be surprised that Connor follows him out, and doesn’t go with anyone else. He settles on very mildly contented, keeping in mind that for Connor, Gavin must the first human communication he’s had for eight years. During one of his breaks Gavin had made sure to remind himself of the date of the accident, and really, it had only made him more depressed. 

“Long fuckin’ day, huh,” he sighs, dropping into the driver’s seat. 

“You don’t say,” Connor agrees. He settles in the passenger side and tries again to reach out and touch Gavin’s arm. His fingers pass straight through, and he frowns.

“…You okay there?” Gavin asks.

“Hm? Yes, of course.”

He watches Connor a moment longer before he starts he the engine and pulls out of his parking space.

“If you say so.”

The music from that morning resumes and he hears Connor laugh under his breath. He picks something else while Gavin drives, and they don’t talk.

When they get back home, Connor returns to hovering around looking lost. Gavin watches him in his peripherals for a while as he rattles about in the kitchen. A lost little ghost without his family and the brother who disappeared. 

Is it possible for ghosts to move on to an afterlife? Can they even do so by choice? …But why would Richard have left? Did he even mean to?

…Could they find him?

“Gavin? Are you all right?” 

In his distraction, he’s been standing with his hands in the sink, not doing much of anything. Connor has appeared by his side, brows creased delicately.

“Oh,” Gavin fumbles. “Yeah, yeah, ’m good. Sorry. Are you sure  _ you’re  _ all right though?”

Connor tilts his head to the side, reminding Gavin strongly of a puppy. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I dunno, the heavy emotional toll?” It comes out a little more harshly than he meant it to.

Connor looks down at his hands, resting them on the counter. “Sorry, Gavin,” he mumbles. “I’m fine.” 

Gavin doesn’t think. He reaches out and pulls Connor by the shoulders into a hug, awkwardly trying to lean up and reduce their height difference. The kid moves into him, caught a little off-guard. For the first few seconds Gavin feels silly, standing there so stiffly, but then Connor’s arms come to rest on his lower back and hug him properly. He lies his cheek on the side of Gavin’s head and exhales the tension keeping him strung so tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. 

Gavin sighs. “You don’ have to apologise to me, Connor. It’s tough.”

He feels Connor chuckle, or maybe sob. Jesus, what the hell did he do to get here?

By the time Connor picks himself up again, Gavin is nearly asleep. For someone who’d lost his body, he sure was warm. 

“Thank you, Gavin.”

“It’s okay,” he replies instantly. “I’m gonna make some food and then we can watch TV or something.”

Connor smiles again. “That sounds good. You missed lunch.”

“Ah shit, I did, didn’t I?” 

In the end, they settle for old reruns of some shitty Marvel show from the 2010s.

“Don’t call it that!” Connor complains. “This was my childhood.”

“Your childhood was lacking,” Gavin says around a mouthful of pasta.

Connor makes an affronted noise. Gavin pats the sofa next to him.

“Sit down. Feels weird with you standing over there.”

He obliges, resting lightly on the edge of the cushion. Gavin tugs on his jumper until he sits back properly. 

“…So what’s with the ghost touches, then? You keep goin’ straight through me.”

“It seems that I’m having more trouble touching  _ you  _ than anything else,” Connor says, eyes on the screen. “I’m—I don’t know why. And you don’t seem to have a problem touching  _ me,  _ either. It’s… Curious.”

Gavin chews on his mouthful and swallows. “Huh,” he adds, ever eloquent. “I never noticed before, ’cause I never tried touching ’em. The other ghosts, I mean.”

“Do you meet many?”

“Everywhere I go,” he says bitterly. “I’m still not sure whether or not I’ve just gone mad.”

Connor giggles. “I can assure you, Gavin, I feel very real.”

“Yeah yeah,” he waves him away, “that’s just what a hallucination would say. Probably.”

The giggles turn to proper laughter, and Gavin can’t help but join in. For the rest of the evening, Connor sits properly on the sofa, relaxing into the cushions. As the both of them gradually slide towards the middle of the worn and bowing loveseat, Gavin can almost forget that Connor isn’t still alive. The warmth from their touching shoulders becomes an aching loneliness when he gets up to go to bed hours later. His flat feels cold when he’s alone.

… 

.. … 

.. .

…. . .

. . .. 

Blearily, Gavin opens his eyes to a dark room. He groans, once he can see clearly enough, at the glaring red 04:36 on his alarm clock. Just as he’s about to fall back asleep, movement by his feet catches his attention. He looks up, but can’t see anything.

“Connor,” he croaks, “’s that you?”

“Sorry Gavin,” comes his whispered reply. Gavin groans and falls back against his pillows.

“What’re you doin’?” Silence. “Whatever. Lie down and let me go back to sleep.” The duvet by his feet rustles. It moves up towards him as Connor lowers himself onto the bed. “Good, now sleep.”

“Ghosts don’t sleep.”

“Try it,” Gavin doesn’t remember saying.


	2. October Third

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your wonderful feedback! I'm so pleasantly surprised by the number of people enjoying my fic already, and your comments absolutely make my day :)   
Hold tight!

Once again, the blaring of his alarm cuts through the fog of Gavin’s mind.

“Shit,” he moans, barely even conscious. He throws out his arm and fumbles for the snooze button. “What fuckin’ day is it?”

“Thursday, Gavin,” Connor says, very close to his ear. Gavin rolls over swiftly, reaching for his gun through pure instinct. Connor lies next to him on the bed, on his side, observing him. “You’re only going to put a hole in your mattress with that,” he says, eyes flicking to where Gavin’s hand has disappeared beneath his pillow. 

“Ah, shit. Sorry, Connor.” He drops back into his self-dug divet in the sheets. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

Connor examines his face. “I guess you don’t remember, but you told me to lie down.”

Gavin groans again. “I guess I did. Sorry, kid. You should’ve just left if I made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m dead, not a blushing maiden,” he chuckles.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. Thanks.”

As reluctant as he is to do so, Gavin has to get up. He pushes himself to the edge of the bed and leans his elbows on his knees, rubbing his face.

“I’m gonna go shower. Don’t bother with anything, though, I _ can _ look after myself sometimes.”

Connor hums. As Gavin hauls himself to his feet and wanders into the bathroom, he spares a glance over his shoulder. Connor is still lying across the bed, watching him. 

Shit’s weird, man.

Just like yesterday, he walks into the living room a little later to find fresh toast and coffee waiting for him. He leaves his towel hanging around his neck, even though it’s uncomfortable against his chest. Connor must have gone looking through the cupboards since yesterday, because the bite of toast Gavin gratefully takes is warm with honey.

“I mean it when I say you can stop with the housemaid act,” he says around his breakfast.

“Yes, Gavin, I heard. It makes me feel useful, though. It’s not like I can do much else.”

Gavin makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Hey, that’s not true. You helped plenty with that case yesterday. Heard it was a bomb threat an’ everything.”

“Yeah, I know.” Of course, Connor had figured the note out before any of the rest of them. “It was meant for them to read. I was worried I’d accidentally led them straight into a trap, but you said it got sorted.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Gavin says in a moment of weakness. “You’re more help than you know.” He shoves the last bite in his mouth and almost chokes when he laughs. 

“Careful with that.”

He waves Connor away. “I was just thinkin' you could be the DPD’s first ever ghost detective. How fuckin’ insane would that be?”

Over by the balcony again, Connor laughs. “Ghost detective? I like the sound of that.”

The uncomfortable feeling of choking again itches at Gavin. He swallows it down and tries to clear his throat. He opens his mouth to say something, and his phone rings.

“Okay, partner, let's get to work,” he says instead, snatching his shirt from the back of the sofa.

“Lead the way, Detective.”

“So there are no signs of a break-in, few signs of a struggle?”

“Nothing conclusive. Nobody knows about anyone else living here, no partner, no family, but there’s an empty kid’s room upstairs.” 

“The fuck?” Gavin mutters. “No sights through an open window?”

“Nope.”

Gavin drags a hand through his hair. “Well shit, then. How soon can we get an autopsy?”

“Not sure, but certainly not today.”

“So, nothing except a gunshot wound and traces of heroin. Great.”

Gavin, and by extension Connor, had been called out into Detroit’s grimy suburbs for half eight in the morning to investigate another homicide. The man, discovered by a concerned neighbour, seems to have been dead for at least a few hours, shot clean through the forehead. He lies face-down in the middle of the shoddy dining area, next to an overturned table. On the coffee table and sofa, less than five feet from his head, are the remainders of his heroin addiction.

Gavin trudges upstairs to inspect the rest of the house. In the man’s bedroom is a lot of neatly-stacked clutter, a well-made bed and an organised record shelf. It’s rather surprising, and doesn’t fit at all with the image of the unkempt dead druggie downstairs. The only discrepancy is the open bedside drawer, inside which is a bottle of anti-D and a recently-disturbed layer of dust. As if something of medium size had been removed carelessly. He jots this down in his notepad.

The other rooms are merely a bathroom, toilet, and the empty kid’s room. The place is decorated in pink more than anything else, so he assumes a little girl probably lived here. In the corner is what looks like a collapsed pillow fort hoarding stuffed toys and children’s books. There isn’t a spec of dust to be seen.

Fortunately, the wooden box on the bookshelf is unlocked. He looks through the girl’s crayon drawings first before he yells for Chris to get the hell up here and make sure the evidence is taken. 

Gavin looks around him. Connor has disappeared.

He tries not to panic. He would call for him if he was lost, wouldn’t he? 

Chris comes thudding upstairs. He peers over Gavin’s shoulder and inhales sharply.

“Poor girl,” he whispers. Gavin places the drawings back in the box and storms out of the room. The utility room proves to contain the rest of the victim’s stash in with the washing supplies. Outside in the garden is an empty washing line and an abandoned red basket, and Connor. He’s by the corner of the veranda, talking to someone. Another ghost, Gavin assumes. He leaves him to it.

“He didn’t have a cleaner, did he?” He asks Chris before they get back in their cars to head to the station. 

“Not that I know of,” he replies. “And anyway, it doesn’t seem like he’d have the money for it.”

“You never know,” Gavin mutters. Connor comes jogging towards him, so he gives Chris a _ see you later _and gets into his own car. Within moments, Connor joins him, and they’re on their way.

“There was a child and a woman,” he says, somehow breathless. Do ghosts breathe? “A… Family friend, or something. She shot him and took the child.”

“I’m not surprised,” Gavin agrees. “Place was too tidy for him to be livin’ on his own, the asshole. I guess nobody liked him enough to drop the other two in it.”

Connor flashes him a small smile. “I suppose not.”

“Poor kid,” Gavin sighs. Despite himself, he hopes that they’re okay.

“…So, Ghost Detective, who was that you were talking to?”

“Oh,” Connor says, blinking. “I’m not sure. She said she’s been here a long time. She was fairly young, and used to live there, I think. She said she used to cry watching what that man hurt his daughter.”

Gavin nods. “Well, first rule of police work is that you get the names, addresses, and employers of the witnesses _ before _ you get their life story. Or death story.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s the first rule, Gavin,” Connor argues, grinning at him.

“Hey, cheeky, who’s the S-O here? It’s the first rule of _ ghost policing, _ anyway, and since that wasn’t a thing until you came along, I think I get to make the rules.”

“Whatever you say, Detective Reed.”

Gavin smirks. “Damn straight it is.”

“Oh?” Connor raises a brow. “I thought you went for guys.”

“What—!” Gavin splutters, unfortunately torn, being unable to smack him whilst driving. “Shut the fuck up, you cheeky shit!”

“You’ve already used that one,” he laughs.

“I didn’t call you a cheeky shit, I called you cheeky. Free upgrade, take it or leave it.”

“If it’s you, Gavin, I just might,” he replies, and fucking _ winks. _ Connor _ fucking _Anderson, winking. He is absolutely, one-hundred-percent, going to be the death of Gavin. He gives himself a week, tops.

“Gavin Reed, 2002 to 2038,” he grumbles. “Death by Connor Anderson, a fuckin’ _ ghost. _ I dunno if that’s irony or karma, at this point.” 

Connor just laughs.

“How’d you figure that, Reed?” Fowler asks him later, standing in his office. The report on his desk spins the tale of a man, abusing his daughter and a relative-slash-friend, who may or may not have taken a gun to his head in a heroin-induced rage, and of the relative-slash-friend who took the child and the gun and fled.

Gavin scuffs his heel on the floor, hands buried in the pockets of his age-old leather jacket. “Dunno,” he says. “A little bird told me. Wanted to remain anonymous.”

Connor grins. His foot goes right through Gavin’s shin.

“We’re ordering pizza for dinner and no, you’re not allowed to judge me.” Gavin throws his jacket over the arm of the sofa and crashes down next to it, pulling out his phone.

Connor sighs. “I can’t eat it, but yes, I would recommend something healthier.”

“Tough luck, healthy can come tomorrow.” Gavin sticks his tongue out of the side of his mouth as he scrolls to find his usual order and hits add. “Anyway, is there anythin’ you wanna watch?”

“…Have there been any more Star Wars films made since I died?” Connor asks cautiously.

Gavin grins, and probably looks a little wild doing so. “Holy _ shit, _yes, I never even thought. I have to show these to you.”

He hits pay and then springs up to his DVD case. Connor is crouched next to it, skimming the rows of colourful boxes.

“You have quite a lot of old stuff, Gavin.”

“Well I got most of those before people stopped buying DVDs. Here,” he points to the Star Wars/Star Trek/Alien shelf. 

“They made more Alien films? Jesus,” Connor mumbles. “How long are they gonna drag that out for?”

“You could say the same for anything, really,” Gavin points out.

Connor flounders momentarily. “_ Okay _ —but the _ Alien _ story line ran out of thread after the second one. I didn’t even bother with the fourth, look! I read this back cover and put it right the fuck back down.” Gavin hasn’t seen him so animated until now. He sniggers quietly, taking in the small curls falling over his eyes now he’s put his fingers through his hair and disturbed them.

“Prometheus…” He continues, a finger hovering on the DVD. “Prometheus was actually kind of good if you ignored all the weird straight people nonsense, and it was _ actually _ pretty damn creepy, but Covenant? Two stars. Unimpressed. _Even _if they had Fassbender.”

“Okay, Master Critic,” Gavin snorts. “How about we watch some Fiery-Gas-Ball Conflict?”

Connor grins. “I can’t wait.”

Satisfied, he wanders back into the kitchen to make popcorn. Connor seems quite content to slip the DVD into the player and turn on the set.

“Aren’t you getting pizza?” He calls.

“Are you askin’ me to watch a film without popcorn?” Gavin retorts.

“…Still.”

“It’s fine, Connor, I can have the leftovers for a snack.”

“What happened to ‘healthy can come tomorrow’?”

“Oops! You got me.”

“Gavin, hurry up! I don’t want to have it spoiled on the title screen!”

“Don’t look then, genius!”

“Just hurry up!”

The microwave dings, and he finagles the hot packet over a bowl to carry through.

“Comin’, comin’. Start it an’ I’ll turn off the lights.”

He jogs over to the switch and knocks it off with his elbow, beer and popcorn in-hand. Connor grins and pats the sofa when he turns around. Gavin settles in beside him and entertains himself through the rolling title by throwing kernels at the side of his head. One gets in his ear and he reaches out to smack Gavin’s leg, catching the side of his thigh.

“Ouch, you wound me.”

“Shut up, then!”

“Okay Princess,” Gavin snorts, but does as told. This really is one of the good ones, after all.

It’s when the credits are rolling, and Gavin finds himself determined to get Connor to play the latest PS game in the Star Wars franchise, that he realises he may have become attached. It’s been, what, two days? Two days since he picked Connor up from the crash site and already he’s treating his presence as a constant. At work he knows where Connor is without really having to look, and he _ knows _ that he hasn’t been this nice to his coworkers in months. He could blame it on the comfort that comes with having someone live with him again, or his loneliness, or his ghost ‘sensitivity’, or what he owes to Hank, but… Gavin just _ likes _the kid. He’s funny, he’s cute, and he’s a smart-ass. He gives as much as he takes and he excuses Gavin for his shitty personality and his shitty life. And yeah, even if this ghost thing made him more empathetic, Gavin’s certain that his current no-shouting streak is purely down to having the company of someone he really does enjoy, for once.

Not that it’s weird or anything. He’s sure Connor can relate, being a ghost and all.

Maybe.

(Gavin knows he has a problem with immediately sticking too close to the people who act like they like him. It’s an issue from the past.)

This time when Gavin goes to bed, Connor follows. He wanders around Gavin’s room, picking up photo frames and books, and trying his very best to feign innocence. 

“Is it that my bed is comfortable, or is it the novelty of the experience?” 

Gavin catches Connor’s eye and tips his head towards the duvet, climbing in himself.

“Who’re the people in the photos?” Connor asks, lying down so he’s propped on his elbows and pulling the duvet over somewhere around his middle. 

Gavin, suddenly exhausted, sighs. “My brother, my mom. Tina, probably. The family dog before he died.” He makes sure his gun, his glasses and his phone are where they should be.

“I recognised Officer Chen. She always looks very happy.”

“God, I don’t know how she’s still my friend,” he admits, lying down. Connor follows, resting his head on a pillow and watching Gavin talk. “I’m not very good at bein’ nice to people.”

Connor huffs a small laugh. “You’re really not that bad, Gavin. People can tell you care, under all that grouch.”

“Grouchy? Me? Excuse you?”

Connor grins. “You are, you ass. You growled at Officer Miller for pointing out your sweet tooth when you were putting sugar in your coffee.”

“Chris is mean right back, he deserves it.”

“You mean, he says things how they really are and doesn’t baby you.”

“Exactly. What does he think I am? A functioning adult?”

“Emotional stability?” Connor grins. “I haven’t heard of her.”

“A decent lifestyle, who?”

“Me, a mess? It’s more likely than you think.”

“I got sixty-nine cents and it’s not enough money for a new brain.”

“Hurricane Katrina? More like hurricane existential crisis.”

“God, even Shaggy can’t save us now.”

“…Knock knock, get the door—it’s Europe.” 

Gavin snorts, batting at Connor. “That one doesn’t even make sense.”

“Yeah, but it made you laugh,” he replies.

“What the fuck are we doing,” Gavin mutters. It takes him several tries to get his next words out when he’s overtaken by a yawn. “Whatever, wise guy,” he manages. “Go to sleep.”

“I don’t sleep, Gavin,” Connor reminds him, grinning in the moderate darkness.

“Do whatever the fuck it is you do then. Watch me sleep for six hours, I don’t care.” He shuts his eyes and huddles under the duvet.

He can hear Connor’s smile in his voice. “I’ll take that as permission if you’re not careful.”

“Sure,” he says, “do what you want.”

“You shouldn’t say that to people, Gavin. You never know what they want with you.”

Gavin cracks an eye open. “…What’re _ you _ planning?”

Connor is still staring across at him. “Probably watching you sleep for six hours,” he says.

Gavin snorts. “Asshole. Whatever it is, all us non-ghosts _ do _need sleep, so do it quietly.”

For the next few moments neither of them speak. Gavin quickly nears the tipping point of his favourite oblivion.

“Goodnight, Gavin,” Connor whispers.

“’Night, Con.”

Gavin stands in the kitchen, leaning on the counter as he keeps an eye on Connor on the balcony. His phone is propped between his shoulder and ear as he holds his plate of toast.

“Hi Mom, how are you?” He asks when she picks up.

“Gavin!” His mother cheers. “You called!” 

“Yeah, sorry I haven’t been doing that.”

“At least you know. Well, we’re okay here. Elijah set me up a new phone yesterday. How are things on your end?”

Gavin sighs. “It’s all right, same as usual.”

“Still in that place on your own?”

“Yeah, but it’s not so bad.”

He lets her chat to him for a while as he eats his breakfast slowly. Apparently it had rained some time this morning, so when Gavin opened the balcony doors to let some air in he’d gotten his socks wet. He’s a little jealous of Connor, standing out on the slick tile without a second thought. Something clicks in Gavin’s mind.

“Hey, Mom?” He asks. “I saw somethin’ recently—do you know about all those stories of little kids seeing people that aren’t actually there?”

“Oh, you mean kids that see ghosts? And their parents can’t see who they’re talking about?”

“Yeah, those. I saw a few of those stories the other night and was wondering if I ever did that as a kid.”

She laughs. “You mean you don’t remember?”

“Huh?” He frowns, taking his phone in hand.

“You used to see things everywhere we went, Gavin! You worried me to no end!”

Gavin shouldn’t be surprised, but he really can’t remember. “You might not remember, actually, but we took a holiday to England to visit some castles, and I couldn’t take you anywhere near them! You cried and cried and wouldn’t stop, so your Dad and Elijah went and I took you into town instead.”

“Oh shit,” Gavin breathes. “I’m sorry I did that. That’s… Really weird.”

His mother laughs again. “It’s not your fault, but you really scared me.”

“Yeah, I can see why.”

“…Are you okay, Gavin? Nothing’s happened, has it?” 

“No, no,” Gavin lies. He tries and fails to swallow the guilt. “Just… Saw something the other day. Do you remember Hank Anderson, that guy I work with?”

“Oh, goodness!” She says, sounding suddenly sad. “The poor man who lost his boys.”

“Yeah,” Gavin agrees. “I—I drove past the crash site the other day and… I’m pretty sure I saw one of them.”

“…Gavin,” she starts. He knows he can’t lie again. “Did you ever stop seeing those things you saw?”

He lets out a long breath, swiping a hand down the side of his face, eyes screwed shut. 

“No, Mom,” he says, inexplicably hoarse. “I don’t think I did.”

“Darling… Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Well, I have no way of knowing whether or not I’m _ actually _mad until I talk to Hank this evening. His—his son is a ghost, I can see him an’ talk to him an’ actually touch him, an’ he can move things around. How the hell do I tell him that without getting punched?”

Down the line, she sighs. “Darling, you’ve just got to be gentle. Try showing him, maybe. Ask his son to pick something up or move it.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s what I was thinkin’.”

“So you found one of the boys? Who is it?”

“Connor, the older one. He’s on the balcony right now. He makes me toast in the morning, an’ everythin’.”

“Oh Gavin… I wish I could help. Call me if you need anything, yes?”

“Yes, Mom, of course. Love you.”

“I love you too,” she tells him. “Be careful, and look after yourself. I’ll let you get to work now.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

“Bye bye, love you.”

His mother hangs up.

Gavin sighs, hanging his head. He doesn’t hear Connor return with his silent footsteps.

“Are you all right, Gavin?”

“…Probably not,” he snorts, sardonically.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Gavin looks up at Connor, now right in front of him. His face is so kind and earnest it makes something below Gavin’s ribs physically hurt. He aims for a little more than a shaky smile.

“No, no, Connor, you’re perfect. Thank you, though.”

Connor tilts his head to examine his face, hand outstretched but hesitant. “As long as you’re sure.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Gavin reassures, patting his arm. He rests his hand there, taking a minute to ground himself in reality. 

“Wanna head to work?” 

“Of course,” Connor smiles. “I’m right behind you.”

“Good answer.”

In the car, Connor picks that old British indie band, and a song called Skulls. Gavin can only assume it’s on purpose. He can’t really fault him for his taste, though. It's his own music.

As they step up into the station, it begins to pour down again. Gavin is jittery all throughout the day. He has to hold himself back from chatting mindlessly to Connor the whole time, lest he look like even more of a lunatic than usual, and gets no call-outs, no updates on cases, and nothing new that needs immediate attention. Hank comes in earlier than his usual, and Gavin can’t help but be overly conscious of both him and the time on his monitor, because he’s just an anxious bitch like that. Connor seems to understand, prodding him to get up for a break or a coffee whenever he starts to stare off into space.

“I think we should get back to yours, first, so you can eat.” Connor tells him. “Then we can go out, get whatever you need, and go to Dad’s place.”

Gavin sighs, tapping the wheel while they sit at a red light. “Sure, okay. A plan. We should have one of those.”

“Gavin,” Connor says, demanding attention with just a word. Hell if Gavin’s strong enough to resist it. “You _ will _be okay. I’ll be there with you, and I’ll help out in any way I can.”

“Yeah. Thanks kid.”

“You don’t need to thank me. This is my dad we’re talking about.”

The lights change and Gavin starts off again. “You miss him,” he observes. It’s not like it would take a rocket scientist to figure out, anyway.

Connor laughs, a little sadly. “Of course I do. I miss all of them—Nines too. I can’t help thinking I should be looking after him.”

“Nines? That a nickname?”

Glancing over, Gavin can see the softness of Connor’s eyes even from where he is. He’s certain he was a good brother. Still is.

“We were born quite close together,” he explains. “Apparently he arrived nine minutes after me. At some point, as kids, he decided that his ninth birthday would be super important and amazing for him, and was really excited for weeks before it. Someone called him ‘Nines’ as a joke, because he made all of his favourite things to do with the number nine. I guess it stuck. He hates us telling people about it though, ’cause apparently it’s an embarrassing story.” 

Connor’s grin is, frankly, the kind of evil that can only be achieved by a sibling.

Gavin chuckles. “What did you end up doing for your ninth?” 

“Oh, goodness, yeah. We ended up going to Disney. He’d gotten himself really hyped up about it, so our parents decided to go a few years early to make it special.”

“I can’t imagine Richard as an excitable little kid,” Gavin says as an aside.

“Well, he wasn’t really that _ noisy _ or anything,” Connor frowns, trying to find the words. “He gets excited in his own way, like he talks a lot, and he can be a lot more enthusiastic than usual. I suppose it was that a smiling, laughing Nines was always a happy Nines, even if he looked reserved to other people.” 

Gavin nods. “They didn’t adopt you too long before that, did they?”

“No, no,” Connor agrees. “We were about five already back then.”

“He loved you to pieces,” he sighs. “Still does.”

The returning smile is soft and heartbroken.

“I know, Gavin. It’s hard.”


	3. October Fourth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da!! Welcome to chapter 3! Thank you for reading so far <3  
Have fun with the beginning of this chapter >:) it took me about three days to write because I managed to develop a block on the immediate preface and again sporadically throughout the scene :) fun.  
Anyway, I finished the last of this fic last night, after I posted chapter 2, with 19.5k words: the product of ten days of work, 1st-10th of September. (Aka many hours).  
I really hope you enjoy it, it was great fun to write :') a real labour of love  
Thank you for your kindness!

“Fuck,” Gavin says. “Okay.”

In his right hand he’s holding a couple of bottles of whiskey by the necks. He’s standing in Hank’s front garden, thinking he might be ill.

“Go on, the sooner you get it done the easier it will be.”

He huffs, fidgeting with his hair. “Yeah. Okay.” 

Connor sighs and reaches forward to knock on the door. A low, muffled woofing comes from the other side, and he gasps very quietly.

Hank opens the door. “Guess you turned up, then.” Gavin holds out the bottles.

“Brought you these,” he says. Hank takes one, inspecting it. He nods, flicking his eyes up to Gavin’s, before turning inside. Gavin assumes he’s meant to follow.

Inside is a decent living space, with a kitchen at the back and two rooms off to the left. Beside him, Connor is looking around quickly. 

A large dog comes padding up to him while he’s taking off his jacket. He doesn’t seem to be the excitable type, or Gavin suspects he may have already been flattened by him. The St. Bernard stops and growls at them, a few paces away and with a comically human-esque expression of suspicion. Gavin glances very quickly at Connor, who looks like he’s trying very hard to keep himself where he is. He suspects the kid wants nothing less than to run over and give the dog all the attention in the world.

“Sumo, stop that,” Hank reprimands. Sumo, though reluctant, turns away and plods off, but not before giving the hand that Gavin offers him a cursory sniff.

“He’s a big guy,” Gavin comments.

Hank sits down on the sofa, placing the bottle on the coffee table in front of him. “He’s actually the runt of the litter. His siblings’re all bigger.”

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, and goes very awkwardly to join him. He places the second bottle down gently and perches on the edge of the sofa cushion.

“Two bottles, huh. Must be something serious.”

“Think of it as a peace offering,” Gavin compromises. “I’m aware of my reputation.”

Hank huffs and waves a hand. “I don’t give a damn so long as you’re keepin’ yer nose outta my business. I’m too tired and old to go around keepin’ score.”

“Dad…”  Connor sits himself on the arm of the sofa, the other side of Gavin.

“So,” Hank continues, oblivious and apathetic. “What was it that you needed to talk to me about?”

Gavin sighs, holding his bouncing leg still and dragging a hand over his face and through his hair.

“I think, I think you may wanna drink before this. Or not, I don’t know.”

“Well,  _ you  _ sound like you certainly need one,” he says. He picks up one of Gavin’s bottles. “There should be some glasses by the sink, if you’d get them. I’ll open this.”

Gavin stands and shuffles into the kitchen feeling very out of place. There’s a set of freshly washed glasses on the drainer, so he brings two whiskey tumblers out to the sofa. Hank pours them both a generous amount, and starts grumbling about the current case Fowler has him working on.

“Hell,” Gavin says, several fingers of drink later. “Those guys seem to believe anything. Fuckin’ annoying, if you ask me.”

“Tell me about it.”

Gavin takes another sip. “Anything weird that  _ you  _ believe in?” 

“Like what?”

“Oh, I dunno,” he mumbles. “Conspiracies, Area 51 and that.”

“Eh,” Hank curls his lip a fraction. “I usually can’t be bothered with it. I mean, aliens are believable, right? But it doesn’t affect me.”

“You believe any a those ghost stories Buzzfeed still spits out from time to time?”

Hank tips his head from side to side, considering. “I dunno. I kind of like the idea. I want to believe they could be real, I guess.”

Gavin hums. “I called my mom this morning, asked her if I ever did weird shit as a kid.” Hank peers at him over the rim of his glass. “Apparently I used to see a lot of shit that jus’ wasn’t there. She said we went to the U.K., once, and that she had trouble taking me anywhere ’cause I’d just cry.”

“So what, you used to see ghosts as a kid?”

“I mean, maybe.” He looks to Hank for direction. He doesn’t look at Gavin like he’s sprouting horns, so he continues. “Well, yeah. I’m pretty sure I did. Just… Hank, man, I need you to listen to me—please. Please just, I dunno, nod and pretend I’m makin’ sense.”

“Hey, kid, chill out. I’ve heard some pretty weird shit in my time.”

“Yeah, well…” Gavin takes a deep breath, and a moment to check on Connor. He’s still sitting silently, observing them. God, he’s so good.

“Hold on a sec,” Gavin says suddenly, getting up and swiftly retrieving a rather battered notebook from his jacket pocket by the door. Sumo lifts his head in mild interest, but quickly goes back to sleep. Gavin falls back down on the sofa and flicks the book open.

“I found this recently,” he explains. “It’s a diary I had in high school. God, I hate it, but I… Could I show you this?” He looks up at Hank, who’s watching him in confusion and curiosity. Gavin supposes they’ve never really interacted outside of sniping at each other from across the station or a crime scene. This is weird, he thinks, but kind of nice. The whole ‘being an all right person’ bit. He’s still out on the Hank bit.

Setting down his glass, Hank nods, reaching out a hand for when Gavin’s ready. He finds the right page and hands it over.

“October 2017,” Hank reads. “Fuck, you were… Sixteen?”

“Fifteen.”

“Jesus fuck.” He puts a finger to the page, tracing the words. “I think I can see ghosts. There was someone standing in the road outside school, but no one noticed her… I only watched her for a minute… But I will swear on my life that at least three cars went straight through her.” Gavin is grateful that he skips all his waffling and picks out only the important parts. He looks to the next page.

“Another weird fucking invisible person… No one says they can see them no matter how discreetly I ask… What the fuck.” He snorts reading the last part and turns the page. And then the next. Gavin sinks into the sofa with his drink, a hand over his eyes, wanting to disappear. He’s going to think he’s mad. He’s going to laugh at him tell him to go home.

“Is this what you’re trying to tell me, Reed?” Hank asks, still flicking through the diary. “You can see ghosts.” He gets to the next month, and the end of the ghost entries, Gavin assumes, when he shuts the notebook. 

Gavin doesn’t look at him, and takes a deep breath.

“After a call out Monday night I ended up going past Milton and Conrad’s on the way home,” he says instead.

“…And?” Any humour has disappeared from Hank’s voice.

Gavin hesitates. “I… Hank, please—“

“ _ And, _ Gavin? What happened.”

Gavin swallows. “And Connor appeared in my passenger seat.”

Both he and Hank are silent for the next few seconds. Gavin moves his hand down to his mouth, realising he has no idea when exactly the tears had welled up and spilled over.

“You’d better not be joking about this.” Hank warns.

“No!” He shouts. “No, god, never.”

Hank sighs, deeply, and folds into his sofa. “So, what happened then?”

Gavin, thankfully, only had the one tear to shed. He inhales shakily. 

“Sorry, just—” He takes another breath.

“You’re doing so well, Gavin,” Connor speaks up. Gavin’s lips twitch involuntarily.

“Sorry, jus’ never told anyone else. Anyway, he uh, stuck around. He said something like, he knows where he is, but has no permanent memory, or sense of direction, so he can’t really navigate or get anywhere on his own.

“He’s been accompanying me to work for the last few days. That note that Brown and Person found? He decoded it himself an’ told me what to tell ’em. He’s been incredibly helpful.”

Hank frowns. “Right,” he says slowly. “And you didn’t think to tell me sooner?”

Gavin swallows. “I didn’t know how, I’m sorry—”

“Yeah, whatever. So he’s been followin’ you round.” He pauses. “Wait, d’you mean he’s here  _ now? _ ”

“Um, yeah. He’s uh, right here.” Gavin sits himself up a bit and points to the sofa arm.

“You’re fucking  _ kidding _ me,” Hank gawks, looking about ready to tap out.

“Gavin,” Connor says, “I want to talk to him.”

Gavin frowns. “Ah, shit, notebook.” He digs around in his pocket and hands over his detective’s notepad and pen. He sees Hank balk as, he presumes, the thing either disappears or starts floating.

“It… Gavin, your notepad.”

“He wants to talk to you.”

Hank gapes. “Jesus Christ,  _ what? _ ”

Connor finishes writing and holds out the pad to his father.

_ Hi Dad, I’m so sorry. Please go easy on him, he’s been so kind to me. I love you. _

“Fuck,” Hank mutters, taking the thing. “Connor.” 

Gavin flicks his eyes between them, chewing on a fingernail.

“Are you okay, Gavin?” Connor asks.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

Hank strokes the words with a thumb, looking in Connor’s general direction. “Is that really you?”

Connor hums. “Tell him I want to know if Cole still plays transformers.”

“He’s asking if Cole still plays transformers,” Gavin relays, somehow not even half as eloquent.

A tiny humourless laugh escapes Hank. “God, Con, I don’t think he’s played that since you went. He said it was never the same without you two.”

“Fuck,” Connor whispers, letting his face fall into his hands. Gavin is not prepared to see him cry again.

“Hey. Hey, Connor, you all right?” The poor kid looks up, eyes glistening, with a weak smile.

“I’ll be okay.” He puts a hand on Gavin’s shoulder, rubbing circles with his thumb. Before Gavin can address the thought that this ought to be the other way around, Hank jumps and yelps.

“What the fuck?!”

Connor is off the sofa in a heartbeat.

“Dad? What’s wrong?”

“Hank?” Gavin regards him warily, sitting up straight.

Hank stares at Gavin, and then beside him. Where Connor had been a second before. 

“Did—did that?”

Gavin chews on his lip. 

“Connor,” he says, reaching out for his hand. Connor frowns at him but lets his fingers slide into Gavin’s palm.

“Shit!” Hank yelps, again. Gavin grabs hold of Connor’s fingers and doesn’t let him go. “Connor? Connor?!”

Connor balks. “Dad?” He cries out. “Dad, can you see me?”

“Holy crap,” Hank whispers. “I can see you. When—when you’re touching Gavin, I can see you.”

“Oh my god,” Connor says in awe. He turns between his dad and Gavin, a look of pure elation breaking through. “Gavin! I’m not invisible!” 

He reaches out to Hank, and Hank reaches back. As soon as he realises that yes, of course he can touch Hank, and  _ Hank can see him,  _ Connor tugs himself from Gavin’s hold and throws his arms around his dad. His sudden disappearance doesn’t seem to bother Hank, who, with his eyes screwed shut, has probably not even noticed.

“Well, I guess what you said about having trouble touching me kinda makes sense now,” Gavin muses. “If I’m like, some weird screwed up conduit. Because this isn’t fucked up at all.”

Ignoring him, Hank breathes a sigh of contentment. Even Sumo has perked up at the outburst and plopped his fuzzy bum down by Gavin’s feet, probably confused by the strange, disappearing man. 

When father and son part, Connor reaches out blindly for Gavin again. He offers his hand and Connor snatches it up, squeezing his fingers in an evident attempt to hide his excitement. He notices Sumo on the floor and immediately bends down to say hello.

“Hey, boy! You’re gorgeous! Yes, you’re lovely!” 

Hank watches so very fondly as he coos at the old dog. “God, I’ve missed you so much.”

Connor turns back, the tears that were threatening earlier now dripping from his cheeks. “I’ve missed you too. We’ve missed you.” He chokes. “I’m so—I’m so sorry.”

Gavin, supremely uncomfortable, is certain he should not be privy to this conversation.

“There’s nothing for you to apologise for,” Hank replies, pulling him back into his chest.

“We, I left you!” Connor sobs, clutching at his shirt. “I left you and Mum and Cole and I can’t—I can’t just  _ do  _ that!”

“Connor, Connor. This was  _ not  _ your fault, you hear me? Things happen as they do. You can’t stop that.” 

Connor appears to nod, swiping the sleeve of his jumper over his eyes and nose as he sniffles. Gavin wonders absently whether he’s bored of those clothes—skinny jeans, a shirt and a close-knit jumper—and whether he could actually change out of them.

“I’m not upset with you, Con. I love you to the ends of the Earth, okay? You and Richard both.”

Gavin assumes it’s the mention of Richard, but Connor’s set off again, crying.

“Dad, I’m so sorry. I should have been looking after him! This never should have happened!”

“Hey, hey. Shush shush shush. It’s okay baby, it’s okay. Like I said, there are things we can’t control.”

“Dad, I don’t know where he is. Nines, he—he disappeared and I don’t know where he went, and, and I’m so worried about him.”

Hank glances over Connor’s shoulder at Gavin. “Nines came back too?”

“We’re going back to look for him tomorrow,” Gavin tells him. He’s been thinking about it since Tuesday afternoon, and he’s sure Richard should still be out there somewhere.

Connor whips around to face him, squeezing his fingers again. “We are?” Gavin can’t help but glance at the pale, slightly translucent hand held in his. He smiles up at him, he hopes reassuringly, if a little feeble.

“Course we are, Con.”

The smile Connor gives him in return, through the tears, is worth all of this evening’s internal struggling.

“Thank you,” he breathes, rubbing his thumb over Gavin’s knuckles.

Hank guides him to sit back down on the sofa, this time between himself and Gavin. Connor takes Gavin’s right hand in his left and holds it against his thigh. 

Gavin busies himself petting Sumo as they talk. The great big lug of a sap ends up climbing on top of him, rather alarmingly. He didn’t scream, no matter what either Anderson tells you. He didn’t.

But Hank snorts at his struggling and Connor laughs brightly, blindingly so, and lets his fingers slip between Gavin’s and curl together.

Gavin has absolutely no idea of how he got to this point, but he really isn’t going to argue.

“I think that went very well,” Connor says after Hank’s waved them off. He holds onto Gavin’s hand until they reach the car.

“Coulda been worse,” Gavin agrees. 

Connor hums, slipping through the car to sit in the passenger side. “Thank you, Gavin. Thank you so much.”

Gavin, held back by the physical boundaries of mere mortals, has to open his door.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Connor squints at him. “You good to drive?” 

Gavin takes inventory. He didn’t have all that much, considering how long they spent hanging around after they stopped drinking. He’d also eaten beforehand, and had several glasses of water since. He certainly felt sober.

“I think so,” he says. It’s also almost two a.m., and he’s not sure how much traffic will be out. It’s not like Connor could drive them, anyway.

Gavin sets off, and Connor doesn’t seem to feel the need to comment on his driving, so he assumes he’s in the clear. Thankfully, there are very few cars on the roads out here, anyway.

Unlocking his front door, Gavin suddenly feels very grateful to be home. He hangs up his jacket and drops his stuff on the sofa. 

“Hey, Connor, are you, like, stuck with those clothes or something?”

Connor looks up at him from his second investigation of the DVD shelf. 

“What, are you trying to get me out of them so soon?” He grins. “At least take me to lunch, first.”

Gavin determinedly ignores the twist to his stomach. He chews his lips instead. “Oi, shut up. I’m asking whether you want somethin’ else to wear.”

Connor laughs, and Gavin has to turn away to avoid the flush threatening to creep up his neck. 

“I’m all right, I promise.”

“No, no, I’m curious now,” Gavin says. He picks up his jacket and holds it out. “Put this on and see what happens.”

How the hell Connor makes putting clothes  _ on _ so alluring, he has no fucking clue. He takes the jacket from Gavin’s fingers and slides his arms through. It’s a bit on the large side, but it, much like the rest of him, turns slightly translucent and immaterial.

“Oh,” Connor murmurs. “I guess that’s a yes.”

“I guess so,” Gavin agrees. Connor takes it off and it drops back into Gavin’s hand, solid again. “Holy shit that’s cool.”

Connor reaches up and pulls off his jumper. Gavin doesn’t  _ mean _ to stare at him as he flexes, and as his shirt pulls up out of his jeans. The jumper hangs from two of his fingers, and he lets it drop to the floor. As soon as it leaves his touch it solidifies and flumps onto the carpet. 

“I guess so,” he echoes. He looks up from under his eyelashes. Gavin wonders if he even notices that he’s doing it. Either way,  _ fuck _ .

“We’ll get you something new tomorrow, if you’d like,” Gavin says, running another hand down his face. “I’m gonna head to bed, though. Us mortals need rest.”

“Of course,” Connor says agreeably, retrieving his jumper. He follows Gavin into the bedroom, kicking off his shoes in the hall. Gavin tugs off his shirt and jeans like usual, unfortunately conscious of his guest and their unspoken arrangement. Connor takes off his jeans too, folding them both on top of the dresser. If he’s fine with it, it’s probably okay, right? It’s not like he isn’t here by choice.

“You wanna shirt to sleep in?” Gavin asks. “You know what I mean,” he continues before he can be corrected.

“Thank you, if that’s all right.” 

Always so polite. Gavin opens a drawer and fetches him an old, clean t-shirt. It’s big on Gavin, even, but it’ll do. Connor unbuttons his shirt, and Gavin decides to busy himself in the bathroom, instead. 

Once his teeth are brushed and his brain is shouting at him less, he returns. Connor is sitting on top of the duvet, scrolling through something on his tablet. The t-shirt is rather too big, nigh-on draping from his collarbones and shoulders, but he seems happy enough. Happy enough to give Gavin a hard time, that is. 

“Whatcha up to?” He asks, steering away from  _ that _ . 

“Looking at those buzzfeed ghost stories you were talking about. Some of them are quite good. I’m trying to decide which ones are actual ghosts.”

“Yeah… I don’t remember giving you my password,” Gavin narrows his eyes at him in jest.

“I don’t remember having to ask,” he retorts, sticking out his tongue. “It’s not like you’re very creative.”

“Personally I think it’s very secure. People know I’m a self-centred asshole, but no one wants to think  _ anyone _ is  _ that  _ self-centred.”

“Your own name? Eh, second try.”

“Damn you, smartass,” he mutters, climbing under his duvet. Connor smirks at him, climbing under too. He stays propped up against the headboard to read, so Gavin picks up his phone to scroll through social media until he finishes the articles. Though with the number of times Connor interrupts him to read one of the stories out, enigmatic and totally in-character, he may as well be reading over his shoulder. 

Maybe twenty minutes later, Connor clicks the tablet off and leans over Gavin to put it on his bedside table. Even though he  _ knows  _ that he knows better, Gavin can’t help but be surprised by how warm he is every time they touch.

“We’ll experiment with your clothing choices tomorrow,” Gavin promises him, “and then we’ll go searching for Richard.”

Connor settles down next to him, cheek pillowed on the back of his hand. He smiles.

“Thank you.”

Gavin nods, flicking off the lamp. “Night, then.”

“Night,” he says.


	4. October Fifth

“…avin. Gavin. _ Gavin, _” comes the demanding wake up call. He groans and tries to sink into his sheets. Connor huffs. “Gavin, come on. You’ll ruin your sleep schedule.”

“Fuck off, Connor, ’m tired.”

He tries to throw a very heavy, very lazy arm at him. Connor giggles and sounds to roll over, out of the bed. 

“Jus’ take anything you want from the closet,” he slurs. He burrows back under his very nicely warm duvet, now missing the warmth his ghost friend had shared with him. Speaking of, Connor does actually leave him alone for the next little while. Gavin doesn’t even notice himself slipping back to sleep until something (someone) very heavy lands over his middle.

“Time to get up, you absolute child!” Connor informs him cheerily. Gavin grunts, unable to do much else, really.

“How are you heavy. How do you even have mass,” he mutters however incoherently.

“God knows, but I’m rolling with it anyway.” Connor begins physically turning him over onto his back. “But _ somebody _ promised me we’d go out today. He said he even got the weekend off this week, so I’m _ sure _ he doesn’t want to waste it!”

“Fine!” Gavin sighs, tearing the duvet away and swinging his legs over the edge, even if he doesn’t sit up. “Fine, I’ll get up.”

Crybaby has obviously cheered up no-end since yesterday. He sits next to Gavin in one of Gavin’s hoodies, slightly oversized, and no trousers. Jesus Christ, what time is it?

Gavin sits up and, once again, groans. “Shower,” he says, and forces himself into the bathroom.

It takes him at least five minutes to haul himself under the spray, considering he’s fantastic at procrastinating doing nothing, but after that he’s okay. He dresses quickly and scrolls through his notifications as he emerges into the living room. Despite Gavin’s assurances, Connor has made him breakfast again. This time it’s cereal, with the milk carton left on the side for him. Gavin assumes he’s probably in need of a restock of his fridge.

“So, clothes,” he says around a mouthful of off-brand cookie crisp. “Anywhere in particular that you like?”

Connor pops his head in from the balcony. “H&M is still a thing, right? I used to just get the basics from them, really.”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess so.” He scrunches his nose. “You know, I was aboutta tell you to come in before you scare the neighbours, but for one they can’t see you, and they’d also probably jus’ appreciate the view. It’s kinda tragic they can’t, thinkin’ about it.”

Connor laughs. “I’m for your eyes only, Gavin. No need to share.”

If all of the blood in Gavin’s body could restrain itself from rushing to his face, that would be great, thanks—signed: G. Reed.

“For being so good at playing innocent, the jokes you make are really out there,” he complains, quietly but aloud. He finishes his cereal and coffee and heads to collect his jacket and shoes. Sometime in the last five minutes Connor has done the same, and also locked the balcony door, too. As always, Gavin leads the way down to his car, though today they turn in the direction of the high street.

“Do you wanna like, be seen?” Gavin asks, hit by a sudden stray thought.

Connor frowns. “I guess that would make shopping easier, right? And you wouldn’t look like you were out alone, you recluse. You could actually talk to me, too.”

“You looked like a normal person to your dad, right?”

He nods. “I mean, apparently? He said he couldn’t tell, other than _ he _ couldn’t touch me without me wanting him to. So I’ll just have to be careful, I guess?”

“Sure,” Gavin says. “Are you okay holding my hand for so long, though?”

Thrown, Connor looks at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I dunno. Only if you’re okay, though.”

“Of course I am. I haven’t been on a date in like four years, anyway.” 

“And the rest,” Gavin reminds him. 

“And the rest.”

Gavin parks in one of the nearby underground multi-storeys.

“You’re going to have to be careful not to let me go, remember?” Connor says.

“Hopefully, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s my magnetic personality I know.”

“I was going to say the police instinct to try to keep you out of trouble, but either works.”

Connor sticks his tongue out at him, then, making sure no one’s around, slides his hand into Gavin’s. He entwines their fingers, Gavin supposes, to help remind the both of them not to let go.

God, Gavin doesn’t think he’s ever been on such a high-stakes shopping trip in his entire life. 

At street level, Detroit is somewhat busy. It’s almost midday, thanks to his lie-in, and there are lots of busy cafés and restaurants around. He lets Connor tug him into any of the shops that take his fancy as he passes, watching with furtive fondness as he tries to keep his excitement about the newer tech products low-key. In one place he spends at least fifteen minutes inspecting the newest phone models available. 

They do end up finding what they came for, and though Connor can’t practically try any of it on, he picks up a couple of new jumpers, long sleeve t-shirts and a light-ish blue pair of skinny jeans. If they’re anything like the ones he’s wearing now, Gavin’s going to end up having to explain in the very near future why exactly Connor keeps finding him staring at his ass and legs. He’s very easily sidetracked. 

Somewhere else they pick up a new pair of shoes. He's been particularly looking out for some canvas trainers so he doesn’t have to wear his smart shoes everywhere. There he does try them on, though Gavin makes sure to keep one hand on his thigh. He lets his fingers trail along to Connor’s knee and stroke reassuring patterns as he watches his expression shift.

“It’s been a long time since I last went shopping for myself,” he tells Gavin happily, running his fingers down a neat black faux-leather jacket. It’s not like Gavin has much to spend his extra cash on, and Connor himself doesn’t have any needs, so he’s more than happy to buy all of this for him. This he explains when, after he insists they get him the jacket (because it’s cool), they trek back to the car to dump their bags and make their way over to Milton and Conrad’s coffee shop—the crash site Connor had appeared next to. Connor seems to accept his reasoning, however reluctantly, and drops into the passenger seat. He pulls the jacket from the bag and slips it on, snapping off the tag when he realises it's a perfect fit. It hugs him nicely, and has a cool flap across the front and holographic details. “Futuristic,” Connor calls it. Gavin’s hand feels oddly empty, even as he grips the steering wheel.

The car’s sat nav claims it’ll take them twenty minutes to drive, with traffic, so he keeps it on just to have the updates. Connor picks the music for them again, this time something Gavin’s listened to more recently, despite it being ten years out of date still. That’s probably just how it’s going to be for the next while, anyway.

Connor watches the city as they go, commenting here and there on things he doesn’t recognise, or things he thinks might be missing. Half of them, Gavin has no clue about. He likes to think he’s merely a generally unobservant person, if only to make himself feel better.

After a few minutes of relative silence, Connor snorts and starts giggling to himself.

“Go on, then. What’s so funny?” Gavin asks.

“Oh, nothing really,” he says, still grinning. “I just thought we could turn this into some sort of covert operation, but then again Dad always said I had a flair for the dramatics.”

“Oh?” Gavin asks. “What’s your plan?”

Connor laughs again, tapping his fingers against his knee.

... 

Gavin and Connor walk into the coffee shop, hand in hand as usual. 

“Are you sure?” Gavin asks, as pleasantly as if in the midst of conversation.

Connor nods. “Yes, definitely, because if it was the other way, or we both went, it’d probably be much slower. Doing it my way means that I can check everything and make sure it’s okay much more easily.”

“I mean, if you’re sure.” 

They head towards the stairs, climbing up to the first landing. Once they’re out of view of the ground floor patrons, Connor grins at him and lets go. 

“Back in a few minutes, _ darling, _” he teases, and races off back down the stairs.

“Won’t be a minute,” Gavin says to his retreating figure. He sighs and rolls his eyes, following leisurely enough to allow him a head start. They’ve timed it well so there’s a queue—the only time Gavin thinks he has said and ever will say that. Even so, he stands back to peruse the menu suspended above the counter. Connor had said that apparently he can sort-of eat food, whatever that means, which he’d discovered when experimenting with Gavin’s cereal that morning. He steps into the queue and pulls out his phone like any other customer. Eventually his turn rolls around, so he orders his usual coffee, a bottle of water, a panini and a chocolate muffin. He didn’t think to ask what Connor liked.

Just as he’s picking up the tray from the counter, two men come running through the front. Seeing as he didn’t hear the door go, Gavin tries not to react. He looks through them as he follows them up the stairs.

_ Holy shit, _ he thinks. _ Holy shit, maybe he found him. _

When he gets to the landing, Connor, stopped at the top, reaches out to take his sleeve.

“Gavin, I was just coming to find you,” he says with a wink, lifting the tray from him and taking his hand. 

“Hello, Gavin. It’s been a long time,” greets the man beside him.

Damn these Andersons and their tall-ness. Richard is an inch or two taller than his brother, and his hair a shade or so darker. His eyes are, somehow, more green or blue than Connor’s brown.

“I’m not holdin’ your hand too, kid,” Gavin says, placing a hand at his back instead. Richard snorts, but allows himself to be led through the door Connor holds open. When they find an empty corner in the blessedly quiet first floor lounge, Gavin makes sure to have at least his toes pressed onto both of theirs to keep them tethered. Connor, never one to back down, traps Gavin’s ankle between his own.

“I’m shocked you didn’t get lost,” Gavin tells him quietly, taking a bite of his sandwich. “I thought you couldn’t find your way very well?”

“I guess it’s because I died here, I don’t know,” he replies. “I just suddenly knew where to go.”

Gavin nudges the muffin towards the two of them. “How curious.”

Connor grins, pulling at the wrapper. “How did you know?” 

Gavin shrugs. “I didn’t. Tuck in.”

“I love chocolate. Nines, you want some?”

Richard shakes his head. “No thanks, I wouldn’t want to make you cry.”

“Well done, though,” Gavin continues. “I’m very happy you found him. That was some good going, too. I only gave you, what? Ten minutes, max?”

“He’s explained it all to me, as well,” Richard says, stealing Gavin’s coffee to take a sip. Connor jabs him in the side.

“Oh,” Richard snarks at him, “so it’s okay for you to do it?”

Gavin frowns, pretty certain Connor has not yet tried to drink his coffee.

“Do what?” He asks.

“Nothing, don’t worry. Anyway, he’s explained the situation. Thank you for looking after him.”

Waving him away, Gavin shrugs again. “It’s nothing. You decided what you’re gonna do yet?”

“If you don’t mind, I might have to impose for the time being,” he says, and Connor jabs him again. He ignores it. “I think, though, I might want to see if Dad’ll take me in.”

Gavin hums. “That’s a thought. Connor, why didn’t you wanna stay with him?”

“Well, you know,” the ghost opposite him starts. “It’s not like he can immediately adjust, or actually see me or hear me or anything. And you seemed okay to keep me around?” 

“Yeah, sure. You’re no trouble,” he agrees, trying not to choke on bread when finding himself the recipient of Richard’s scathing raised eyebrow. “What?”

Predictably, he’s ignored. “As long as you don’t mind,” Connor makes sure, suddenly meek.

“It’s not like I do anything particularly exciting, and work is long, but I don’t mind.”

Connor brightens. “That’s another thing! Going to work with you is fun. I get to be a detective.”

Richard looks to him. “Oh? He actually takes you with him?”

“Yep,” he replies happily, chewing the last of the muffin. “He works across the floor from Dad and gets to do cool police stuff.”

“Sounds good,” Richard agrees, stealing more of Gavin’s coffee.

Gavin gestures to it. “Do you want it, then?”

“No, thank you,” he smiles pleasantly. “It’s yours, Gavin.”

Jesus Christ. Little shits, the both of them.

Gavin drops by Hank’s, later, with both sons and a small wipe-clean notebook. They have another somewhat tearful reunion. Hank admires Connor’s clothing choices, and Connor decides to cook dinner for him and Gavin, despite the challenge provided by the sparse kitchen contents. Richard meets Sumo, too, and that really is quite entertaining. He ends up telling them, from beneath a lot of kilos of dog, that he’s figured out how to do something that feels like dematerialising, which is why he just appeared in front of Connor without warning. He explains it to Gavin and Hank like hibernation.

Hank is, understandably, both baffled and ecstatic to have his boys back. He agrees to let Richard stay with Gavin for the night before he moves back in with him. Nothing is said about Connor, who calls them in to eat moments later. He’s managed to scrounge up the ingredients for a rather lovely pasta with various tinned vegetables and meat. He tells Richard on no uncertain terms that he’s to get their dad eating properly again.

When the both of them leave with Gavin, he’s about ready to drop, and it’s only nine-thirty. Connor and Richard chatter all the way back to his flat, and Connor pokes him until he agrees to watch the next Star Wars. Gavin makes enough popcorn for the three of them and lets Connor dig around for a blanket to hide under. He changes into a pair of Gavin’s sweatpants while he’s at it, however unnecessarily. 

“Will you be satisfied if I jus’ throw my entire wardrobe at you?” He asks.

Connor laughs. “Sure, but only because I like how soft your clothes are.”

“They don’t even fit you,” Richard points out. 

“That is a charm and not a flaw,” he insists. Gavin sighs and hits play.

The film is still great all the way through, even when, a few minutes from the end, Connor yelps, grabbing blindly for Gavin’s arm. Even Richard makes a noise.

“They didn’t!” Connor cries. “Holy shit, they did!”

Gavin laughs. “They did. First canon non-heteros of the franchise. And some of the only, mind you. They’re still absolute bastards.”

“I’m not surprised,” Richard agrees. They manage to finish the film in stunned quiet, though Connor’s hand remains on Gavin’s arm and he can feel him near-vibrating with excitement.

“Holy crap!” He gasps, after.

“You’re giving me flashbacks to release day,” Gavin complains.

“I’m impressed,” says Richard. “And the film was good, too.”

“But now, it is time for me to pass out,” Gavin decides. He gets up and stretches, half expecting to light up like a glow stick the way his bones are cracking. “I had a great day, guys, but you wear me the fuck out.”

“You haven’t seen anything, yet,” Richard mutters. Connor smacks his arm, and struggles to his feet too. He folds the blanket and drapes it over the back of the sofa.

“You’re welcome to disappear at any point, jerk,” he says.

“You’re welcome to stop being such a weirdo, slut.”

Gavin whips back around. “Whoah, whoah, whoa. What the fuck?”

“Ignore him,” the both of them chime.

“Right,” he says, unconvinced. “Fuck this, I’m out. Goodnight, morons.” 

He leaves the door to his bedroom open anyway. He hides in the bathroom in an attempt to escape the squabbling. Really, though. Why him? If Connor doesn’t kill him by the end of the week—because let’s face it, Gavin has been attracted to him since the very beginning, even if he doesn’t want to admit it—he’s certain that Richard _ will, _ even if not for the same reasons. Well, here’s to one last day on this shitty planet.

Seriously, when the hell did he decide that being attracted to a fucking _ ghost _was an okay thing to do? Like, what? He’s halfway down the road of pathetic crush already, and it’s been less than six days. Six goddamn days. Is this even legal? The guy’s like, permanently twenty-four now, isn’t he? Even if he’d be thirty-two this year, is this okay? What is Gavin doing? Who knows.

Post-brief-crisis in the bathroom, Gavin emerges to see Connor, like the night (morning) before, in his old t-shirt lounging on the bed. He ignores him and continues his routine, arranging his shit on the nightstand and tugging off his shirt. Of course, Richard chooses that moment to poke his head, quite literally, through the door.

“You are so _fucking_ unbelievable,” he says. 

Gavin jumps. He stands, facing him, with his shirt clutched to his chest, desperately trying to think up a reason as to why Connor is waiting for him on his bed. Jesus Christ, he didn’t even think about how bad it looks until now. 

It seems he doesn’t need to, though, as Richard is only paying attention to his brother. His expression virtually screams ‘height of disappointment’.

“Oh, _ do _fuck off,” Connor retorts. Gavin hasn’t heard him swear this much the entire time he’s known him. Siblings do that, he supposes.

Richard doesn’t even blink. “Don’t you dare start playing that vine at me again, by the way, or I _ will _punch you in the face.”

“Good luck trying,” Connor smirks.

He clicks his tongue at his brother, and then retreats. “Whatever. I’ll be out here, away from you.”

“Love you too, Nines.”

Gavin unfreezes. “Just shout if you need anything,” he calls. Richard doesn’t respond, but he assumes he’s heard.

“I get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”

“Oh he does,” Connor assures him. “He’s just like that. He also doesn’t like that I told him off for flirting with you. He told me I was being a hypocrite, so I told him he was just late.”

“He was _what_ now?” Gavin asks, ridding himself of his jeans. “When?”

Connor watches him unreadably for a moment. “I am going to be glad that you didn’t notice, and just hope that you’re not always so oblivious,” he decides.

“You do that.” 

Unable to find a clean shirt, he gives up and collapses face-down next to Connor. Gentle, warm fingers begin to drift across his shoulder blades, and his eyelids droop. 

“Are you okay?” Connor asks.

Gavin sighs. “I’m fine. Jus’ tired.”

“I’m sorry if we make you uncomfortable. Or me. I can stop.”

“No, you’re fine too. You’re both fine. Everythin’s fine.”

“…Forgive me for not feeling very convinced.”

“Forgiven.”

Gavin squirms until he’s made it beneath the duvet. “…Did you change the sheets?”

“I did,” Connor says. “Is that okay?”

“You don’t hafta do shit for me, Con.”

“I like being helpful.” He’s pouting. He’s goddamn pouting.

“Well, I never said you can’t, I guess. Thanks though.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replies. Gavin wonders if he imagines the pitch of his voice being so much lower than before. Connor lies down next to him. He can feel him nudging a foot between his ankles. The pulse running beneath Gavin’s skin is loud and obvious, and it makes his veins sing. Afraid of his own feelings, he makes himself open his eyes. Connor is very close, staring straight back.

“Why d’you stay with me?” Gavin rasps. “I’m a prick.”

Connor grins at him. “Maybe I want to.”

He huffs a short laugh. “Whatever floats your boat.” 

Connor leans over him to switch off the lamp. “Sleep well,” he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly there!! :'')  
Check out my other rarepairs fics in the series for much shorter little stories! I'm shameless


	5. October Seventh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to all of you, my friends, for sticking with me and my inconsistent nonsense :')  
Hope you enjoy!!

On Sunday evening, having allowed Gavin to survive to see another day, Richard stays with his father when it’s time for Gavin to leave, muttering something about himself and Connor being ‘unbearable’. Gavin would be offended if he didn’t know it to be true. Connor goes home with him as usual, chatting about whatever seems to come to mind.

Monday comes, and they find themselves investigating a scene found outside a nightclub. Richard and Connor manage to get accurate descriptions of the perp from two ghosts hanging out smoking in the same alley. It’s the first case Hank and Gavin work without raising their voices at each other, and Chris looks shell-shocked afterwards. 

Back at the station, Connor is distracted by something or other to the point of following Gavin into the bathroom, where he has to put a hand against his chest and push him out. Connor comes back to himself suddenly, winks at him, and disappears. He sees him conspiring with Richard a bit later. And then Hank texts him for the second time ever. Today is definitely weirder than the usual.

> 13:07
> 
> Hank: I’m gonna drop Con back at yours cos he said he forgot smth
> 
> >> ? sure
> 
> Hank: that was me asking for your address
> 
> >> jeez ok
> 
> Hank: what time will you be back
> 
> >> probably the usual if I don’t get a call out
> 
> Hank: …
> 
> >> 6:30
> 
> Hank: k 
> 
> >> don’t k me old man
> 
> Hank: k

At the end of his shift, for the first time in a week, Gavin drives back to his flat alone. It’s a rather sad affair, without the musical nostalgia Connor has been subjecting him to. He picks something similar, just to make himself feel better. 

God, he’s so screwed.

He wonders how Connor got into his flat without the key for a full three minutes before remembering that he’s literally a ghost. But what if he wanted to bring something in? Is it really that he chooses whether to change the state of something, or is it a fluke? He can’t help but think in circles at the best of times—it’s a miracle he gets anything done at all.

Gavin unlocks the door of his flat, pushing it open with his foot.

“Hey, you still here, Connor?” He calls. No response.

He hangs up his jacket and kicks off his shoes, shuffling towards his living room in the hopes of an empty sofa to collapse onto.

“Surprise!” Comes a huge cheer to his left, just as he rounds the corner.

Connor, Richard, Hank, Tina, Talia and Chris are all gathered around the kitchen island, pulling the strings on a bunch of party poppers.

Gavin shrieks. “What the fuck?!”

All of them burst out laughing except for Richard, whose amusement is much more contained, if more devastating. Tina, on the other hand, is positively howling.

“Did you see your face?!” She gasps, holding an arm across her stomach. Talia steadies her, still laughing.

“Of course I didn’t, you moron,” he says. “What the heck?”

“Happy Birthday, Gavin!” Connor calls.

“Oh shit! You’re right!” He slaps a hand to his mouth, but at a thought, he frowns, glancing between his three other friends. “Wait.”

“You’d better appreciate this, asshole,” Hank interrupts. “I spent like an hour trying to explain all this to these guys without sounding like a looney.”

Gavin blinks. “I bet you did anyway,” he says, unthinking.

“He did,” Chris says. Talia nods. Tina is still choking on her own laughter.

“Gee, thanks,” Hank drawls.

“Jesus Christ, guys.” Gavin truly is at a loss for words. On the counter in front of them is a cake and several gift bags. The cake even has candles.

Connor makes his way over, grinning, and throws his arms around him. “Happy birthday.”

His friends gasp.

“Holy shit, you were right. He’s like, the next Ghost Whisperer or something,” Chris jokes, staring openly. Richard stands behind Gavin and places a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you for looking after us, Gavin,” he says. Connor finally relinquishes his hold, but instead grabs his hand.

Gavin certainly doesn’t blush.

“How did you know?” He asks.

“He overheard me talking with Chris,” Tina says breathlessly, finally in control, and shamelessly checking the twins out. “He obviously got his act together before we gave you your presents. Here they are, by the way.” She spreads her arms over the counter. Richard lets go of Gavin to let Connor tug him over.

“We’re not singing,” Hank warns. Gavin gives him his middle finger and blows out the candle, aware that Talia’s still filming him. 

“Open ours first,” Tina says, pushing it towards him with a wink. “Gotta save the best for last.”

“Oh yeah?” He says, already pulling the tissue paper out. He opens the brilliant Avengers-themed card that reads ‘Happy 3rd Birthday’, with a six penned in next to the three in black sharpie. On the inside is a lengthy note he skims over for the time being, signed T&T, with a heart, and some shitty drawings on the inside cover. He grins and positions it on the counter, opening up the bag to find the contents. More tissue paper, it seems, until he uncovers a fancy-looking grey box. He looks at them, trying to convey some sort of disbelief. Sure enough, when he flips open the lid of the box he finds a very shiny black watch. An expensive one, too.

“The face is toughened and scratch resistant, because we know how great you are with not getting beaten up at work,” Talia says happily. When he lifts the watch, the face lights up, displaying the time, date and weather for a few seconds before switching off again. 

“Look,” Tina adds, excitedly pointing to a tiny icon in the corner, “you can add more time zones, and you can even change the colour of the text!” She always does like customisable things.

Gavin puts the box down on the counter and goes over to give both of them one of his rarely-shared hugs. They both hug him back tightly, giggling. 

“Thank you, really,” he tells them. They grin and prod the next bag towards him.

“Go on, Chris next.”

He pulls the bag over and starts picking at the sticky tape holding it closed.

“Sorry it’s not much,” Chris says. Gavin glares at him.

“You didn’t have to get me anything at all. All I do is cause you problems, dude.”

He snorts. “Yeah, but you’re _ our _problematic douchebag, so we gotta look after you.”

Inside is a set of very nice colognes in tiny fancy bottles, and environmentally-conscious toiletries.

“Jesus Christ, Chris, thank you,” Gavin breathes. He slings an arm around Chris’ shoulders when he sidles up to pat him on the back. He pulls out the card from the bottom. It’s one of those mediaeval illustration style joke cards, depicting some people watching a jousting match complaining about the state of health and safety. He laughs and reads the note inside, standing it next to Tina and Talia’s.

Gavin realises, in his distraction, that the twins have been hanging onto the hem of his shirt in order to stay visible. He looks up at them and snorts, seeing how inconvenienced Richard looks.

“What?” Richard asks. “You think I want to be in close proximity to this idiot for longer than necessary?”

“Oi,” Connor clicks his tongue, elbowing him.

Hank, cutting up and plating the cake, slides over the last two bags. “Open this one first, it’s from Richard.”

Gavin pulls out the bright white tissue paper cautiously, and picks up the card. The front is a solid magenta, with the slogan ‘Nothing says Happy Birthday like a folded piece of card.’ Inside is a brief thank you, and his good wishes. 

First out of the bag he pulls two packets of Haribos. Next, is a candy red dog collar with white stitching.

“Uh,” he stutters. “Are you sure this wasn’t meant for Sumo?”

“No, it’s for your dog.”

“I don’t… Have a dog?”

“You might as well have one,” he says, not at all cryptically.

Chris clears his throat, and Talia is giggling.

“Um, why has Connor disappeared?” Tina asks.

Gavin looks to his side, and then down. Connor is crouched on the floor, hands over his mouth, red faced, and staring wide-eyed into nothing.

Gavin’s jaw drops, and he looks back up at Richard, letting the collar fall back into the bag. He looks so incredibly smug.

“What the actual _ fuck, _ Richard?”

Hank seems to be very steadfastly ignoring them, but Tina cracks up again. He slides his hands over his eyes and presses his fingers into their sockets. This is not something he wanted to be thinking about in front of his friends and their family. Jesus.

“Now for Connor’s present,” Richard continues cheerfully. 

“Sure,” Gavin croaks. 

“It’s from all of us,” Connor corrects weakly, from the floor. “Except maybe Nines. He’s not allowed anymore.”

“It was your idea, Con,” Hank says. 

Gavin picks up the heavy rectangular box from the bag, desperate to move on. He opens it to a long, landscape book, with ‘2038’ printed on a white and teal background. Gavin lifts it out and onto the table so all of them can see. He flips open the first page. 

_ For Gavin, on your 36th. _

The next page is a large photograph from years ago—something only Elijah could’ve given him. A photo of he and Gavin together as teenagers. The page opposite is a few from years later, of Gavin with his Policing certificate. He flips through the rest of it, finding picture after picture of events lost to his tumultuous ocean of memories.

He stops at one of them, pressing his fingers to the faces there. It’s slightly blurry, and obviously from sometime in the mid 20s. It’s of him meeting the Anderson twins for the first time, at a department gala.

“Oh my god,” he murmurs. “I don’t remember this being taken?”

“It was somewhere in the mix of photos I have on my laptop,” Hank says. “Connor scanned through them all this afternoon and put it together for the printers in town, before they closed.”

“Holy crap…” He continues flipping forwards.

“Wow, this is awesome,” Tina praises. 

Connor has, by this time, collected himself. He steps over to stand behind Gavin and watch over his right shoulder so Richard can still hang on to his left. The warmth of Connor’s breath skims Gavin’s ear as he nearly rests his chin on his head. He can feel one of his hands sitting comfortingly on his hip.

“Thank you,” he tells him. “I don’t really know what to say.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Connor grins. Gavin’s phone buzzes. He digs it out of his pocket to see a timely notification.

> Brolijah: Happy Birthday Gavin :)
> 
> >> thnak
> 
> Brolijah: Do you like the photos?
> 
> >> yeah wtf ?? It’s really cool tho
> 
> Brolijah: ;)

“Cake,” Hank says, putting a plate in front of him. Tina and Chris have commandeered the album and are almost certainly making fun of Gavin between themselves. Talia is making conversation with Richard, munching on her own cake. 

“Thanks.” Gavin takes the napkin thrown in his direction. “And thanks for all this, I really wasn’t expecting it in the least.”

He snorts. “We could tell by your face.”

“I’m glad you didn’t, or it wouldn’t be a surprise,” Connor laughs. “I’ve always wanted to do one of these.”

He takes a bite of the cake. “Thank you, guys. You really didn’t need to go to any of this effort.”

“We know,” Hank is quick to agree.

“I wanted to,” Connor pouts.

“I appreciate it.” Gavin walks around the island and reaches for the glasses cupboard. “Anyone want a drink?” He asks.

“Yes please,” comes the chorus. In the cupboard under the sink is a bottle of something Tina brought round last time she was here, so he cracks it open and pours them all some.

Connor sneaks his phone from his pocket and connects it to the speakers by the TV to play some choice 2000s music. At this point he’s just doing it on purpose, but Tina, however, lights up. 

“Oh my god!” She cheers. “I haven’t heard this in _ so _long.”

Connor grins. “Oh look, _ someone _ appreciates me,” he drawls, poking Gavin in the side.

“Yeah yeah, go make nice with _ her _then, if I’m not good enough.”

“Don’t say that, Gavin, I do need you, so that Tina can see me to talk shit about you together.”

“Really feelin’ the love, ghost boy.”

“Anytime.” He winks, and pats Gavin on the ass when he returns his phone.

Gavin takes a large gulp of his drink. 

“Jesus, what a night,” Gavin sighs once they’re alone again. His mother had called halfway through the impromptu party, which was nice, and everyone had left by eleven knowing they all have work tomorrow. He takes a bite of some leftover pizza and crashes on the sofa. Connor perches next to him. 

“I hope you enjoyed it,” he says.

“Course I did! That was a real nice thing of you to do. I appreciate it.”

Connor smiles, fiddling with his hands. “Just… You didn’t say anything about it being your birthday this morning, but Tina and Chris didn’t seem to think you didn’t like it or anything, so I was a bit confused.”

Gavin swallows his next mouthful. “Sorry, I forgot about it. Too much excitement last week, you know?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Oh, by the way,” Gavin says quickly, “don’t even _ think _about doin’ the clearing up, that’s my job.”

“It’d be quicker if I did it, though?” Connor’s eyebrows curve upwards and he turns to face him. “You have work tomorrow.”

“My job,” Gavin repeats. “You’ve done basically everythin’ else for me since you moved in. I’m doin’ this. Watch TV or somethin’.”

True to his word, a few slices of pizza later, Gavin hauls himself out of his sofa nest and starts collecting the empty glasses and plates.

“I can feel you watchin’ me, Connor,” he says. “Go do something relaxing.”

Connor whines. “Gavin, you know I like being productive.”

He drops a glass into the hot water he’s just poured. “Well, we all gotta stop sometimes.”

He washes the glass and sits it in the drainer, reaching for the next one when he suddenly feels Connor’s hands at his hips behind him. 

“It’s _ your _ birthday, Gavin,” he says, resting his forehead on the back of Gavin’s neck. “_You _ should be the one relaxing.”

Gavin chuckles, but it sounds distant in his own ears. 

“I’ve done more’n enough relaxing for the both of us, recently,” he says. “I gotta thank you for this somehow.”

“Then just come to bed and let me do it later,” Connor whines.

“No, I’m doing it now!” Gavin can’t help but start laughing when Connor’s curls tickle his neck. “Go on, go do whatever it is ghosts do to keep themselves occupied.”

He feels him grin behind him, and his breathy laugh makes him shiver.

“Usually,” Connor says, “I hang around tormenting _ you_. You’re mean to deprive me.”

Gavin must have been thrown back into the mindset of a high-schooler, recently, because the base of his throat tries to constrict around his words.

“Congrats, General Annoyance, you’re doin’ well,” he manages with a smile.

“As I should be,” Connor agrees, tapping him on the ass, _ again, _ before he fucks off and leaves Gavin dizzy and half-hard already. 

Fuck. 

He finishes the washing up on autopilot, trying desperately to will his blood back into his brain so he can think about anything other than Connor and his stupid voice and stupid hands. Connor’s legs, his brain oh-so-helpfully supplies, or his lips. Gavin is very tempted to just throw himself off the balcony, he’s so embarrassed. 

God he’s glad his friends left early, however mean that sounds.

When he gets into bed that night, Connor, as always, is waiting for him.

“Dontcha get bored, if you can’t sleep?”

“I like pretending,” he says. “Time passes weirdly for us. It doesn’t feel like much.”

“Oh, okay. If you’re sure.”

“Very.” Connor smiles, looping his legs around Gavin’s.

“Goodnight, Gavin.”

“Night,” Gavin replies, begging the alcohol to knock him out.

It doesn’t do too bad of a job, honestly.

Over the next few days, Connor is an absolute _ weasel. _

At work Gavin finds himself constantly on his toes, trying to anticipate Connor’s accidental touches, and brushes of skin in unfortunate places. His only saving grace is that he does it when no one can see them, so Gavin tries his absolute darndest to avoid those places.

Richard watches them with mild disdain and quickly whittling patience, and writes god-knows-what to Hank while he maintains direct eye contact with Gavin. It sets him on edge, perpetually, because on top of the usual, he’s now stressing about what Hank must be thinking of him. He never says anything, and he’s no different when they have to see each other, but still. Gavin can’t help it.

“Sorry, Gavin,” becomes a common phrase from Connor’s lips, nearly always matched in sentiment by his grin.

On Friday, Gavin wakes rock hard against him, wondering how the hell he’s gotten away without it happening for such a long time. Connor just blinks up at him, all innocent-like, and Gavin taps out right there and then, escaping his duvet as quickly as possible to take care of himself in the bathroom.

“Connor,” he says later, sprawled on the sofa with a bruise from some moron he’d detained crawling its way up his side. “Connor—what’re you doing?”

Connor, sat with his knees to his chest in one of Gavin’s hoodies, slides the spoon out of his mouth. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Gavin,” he replies, making it clear that he knows exactly what Gavin means. He digs the spoon back into the ice cream tub and takes another bite. “This stuff is good, though, I’m glad I didn’t miss out on it.”

Gavin sighs and stays quiet for the rest of the film. He’s not good with people, he knows. He seems to be even worse around Connor, who ties his tongue in knots even at the best of times.

Once the film is finished he gives up and just heads to bed. Connor follows, curling up against Gavin’s back and resting a hand at his hip.

“Don’t,” Gavin croaks, so, _ so _ tired.

“Why not?” He asks with genuine concern, but leaves his hand where it is.

“Because,” Gavin says. “Because I’m not a good person, and you don’t know what you’re setting yourself up for.”

“I think you’re plenty good,” Connor argues, low in his ear. “And maybe I want that.”

Gavin turns over to face him. 

“We’re friends, right?”

Connor pauses. He frowns and nods.

“I… I don’t want to ruin that,” Gavin continues. “Everyone I touch, just… I get people hurt… And I don’t want to hurt you.”

He looks imploringly at Connor, already knowing he’s way too far gone himself to deal with the heartbreak.

“Nothing’s easy, Gavin,” Connor soothes, stroking his fingers over Gavin’s temple. “But sometimes the good is worth the bad.”

“You’re too good for me,” Gavin rasps, weak as paper and straining to reach out and touch.

Connor goes a little red as he struggles with his words. 

“I… But I _ want _you.”

Gavin turns and pushes him onto his back, climbs on top of him. His knees dig into the mattress uncomfortably, but fuck if he’s wasting this chance.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks, hand hovering over Connor’s abdomen. Connor nods below him, grinning now and looking very pleased with himself.

“Absolutely,” he says.

Holy shit.

Gavin leans in slowly, trying to give him an out, trying to take the whole moment in, but Connor wraps his arms around the back of his neck and drags him down until their lips finally meet, and kisses him with immeasurable enthusiasm. Gavin groans, trying his best to respond in kind. His knees slip and he tips forward to land flush with Connor’s body, but Connor only adjusts their angle and pulls Gavin up towards him.

It’s warm; it’s so warm and soft and gentle and intense, and it’s everything that Gavin’s been needing. The tension in his body completely leeches away, and if it were possible to melt into Connor’s body, he thinks he would do so in an instant.

Connor’s hold on him is so safe and welcoming that he forgets anyone else exists in that moment. They only have themselves and their heartbeats and hitching breaths between them.

Minutes later, when they part, Gavin opens his eyes. Connor is gazing up at him, running a hand over the small of his back, with an expression he cannot properly put words to. He looks so vulnerable, open, loving and _ everything _else that it gets Gavin right in the middle of his chest—tight and hot and unbearably soft. 

“Hey,” he says lamely, a little hoarse.

“Hey yourself,” Connor replies. His hands sneak under Gavin’s shirt, and skate patterns across his abdomen.

“Hey, stop that!” Gavin struggles, ticklish.

He falls to the side, slipping off Connor and landing on the mattress. Connor turns with him so that they lie together as a single, tangled lump. 

“How cute,” he giggles, pressing a kiss to Gavin’s neck. 

Gavin fake-scowls at him. “Shut up, you ass.”

“So, what do you think’s the probability that you’re the first person in existence to have a ghost boyfriend?” He asks.

“Probably pretty low,” Gavin replies, “considering how long the world’s been turnin’ an’ all.”

Connor laughs and continues pressing kisses below his jaw. Gavin doesn’t remember the last time he felt so content.

“You’re the only person to have me, though,” Connor says. “Not to sound conceited, which it does, but I meant it in terms of the ghost thing.”

Gavin snorts and digs him in the side, pressing in to remove the space between them.

“I think you’re pretty neat,” he teases, letting Connor roll his eyes while he psychs himself up. “I did _ kinda _fall in love with you, after all.”

Connor kisses his mouth this time, smiling against his lips.

“I think you’re pretty neat too, Gavin.”

“Well, thank _ fuck _for that,” he laughs.

For the first time in years, Gavin wakes up in somebody’s arms. 

“Good morning,” says Connor, stroking Gavin’s side.

Gavin groans. “Mm, what day is it?”

“Saturday,” he tells him. “You have work today, but tomorrow off.”

“Ugh, I jus’ wanna stay here.”

Connor chuckles quietly. “Me too, but we have to move now.”

Gavin’s alarm cuts through their gentle atmosphere, and Gavin swears. He reaches out to smack the thing off, accidentally knocking half his shit to the floor in the process.

“Well done,” Connor comments.

“Shush, you dun hafta get up for work. You dun go to sleep.”

Gavin pulls painfully and reluctantly away from his, as of last night, boyfriend. He spends the next half hour of waking up and trying to shower freaking out about that because… Yeah. Holy shit.

Connor is lazily flicking through Gavin’s tablet on the bed when he emerges from the bathroom. The space next to him is incredibly inviting, but he makes himself walk to the kitchen for sustenance.

“I swear to god, Connor,” he calls. “Stop making me food!”

“But I want to!” He returns.

“It makes me feel bad, I told you!”

Connor saunters in and sits on the back of the sofa to face him. Gavin reiterates on the thought that he’s absolutely fucked, taking one glance at Connor in a hoodie and boxers and messy hair and falling so hopelessly for him all over again. He tries to distract himself by taking a bite of his toast. It’s difficult to tell which is worse, at this point: his denial or his acknowledgement. Both are going to be terrible for his heart, he knows.

“Are we going to have to get you phones, then, d’you think?” Gavin asks, thinking.

“Who? Me and Richard?”

“Yeah, so we can, y’know, communicate with some kinda success.”

Connor grimaces. “Maybe. It’ll all have to be under your name though, won’t it? Or Dad’s.”

“Eh, that’s fine,” Gavin waves it away. “Not like you’re gonna be picking up a salary any time soon, huh?”

“Wouldn’t that be hilarious,” Connor snorts. “I don’t know, though.”

“Well, ’s not like we don’t have time to think about any a these things,” Gavin sighs. He finishes his toast and rinses his fingers under the kitchen tap. 

“I guess not,” Connor agrees.

Gavin wanders over to him casually, wiping his hands dry on his jeans. He steps up between Connor’s thighs, hands sliding up to his waist.

“Has anyone told you that you’re gorgeous, recently?” He asks.

Connor smiles, playing his fingertips over Gavin’s shoulders. “Not in so many words.”

“Well, you are.” He stretches up and kisses him, happy to keep it sweet and languid. Despite not really having a physical body, Connor feels just like anyone else might, with the exception of being so… Him. Soft and mild and somehow surrounded with a fresh, forest-y incense.

Gavin pulls away with regretful thoughts of work. 

“As much as I love this, you might wanna at least put on some pants,” he jokes, tapping him lightly on the thigh.

“Only if you insist,” Connor replies, winking.

He slides down and disappears off. Gavin follows his trail into the hall and digs his feet into his sorry-looking shoes, snatching up his jacket and keys. Connor returns, finishing buttoning his jeans.

“You ready for another gruelling day as Ghost Detective Anderson?” Gavin grins.

“You bet,” Connor says, and follows Gavin out of their flat.

Gavin catches his eye as they descend the stairs together, hand-in-hand. 

Yeah, this was the _b__est _idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](https://silverxsakura.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :D  
Do let me know your thoughts in the comments or on my [tumblr](https://silverxsakura.tumblr.com/)


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